


I'll Give You Everything I Am (You'll Give Me Everything I Want to Be)

by HannahTheScribe



Series: I’ll Give You [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adult Content, Age Difference, Alternative Lifestyles, Alternative Sexuality, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Authority Figures, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Bondage and Discipline, Bottoming, Conditioning, Consensual Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Sex, Control, Dom/sub, Dominance, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Female Relationships, Female-Centric, Friendship, Heavy BDSM, Human Trafficking, Insomnia, Kinks, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Love, Masochism, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Mental Health Issues, No Lesbians Die, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Novel, Ownership, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Panic Attacks, Past Tense, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Protectiveness, Queer Character, Queer Culture, Queer Families, Queer Friendly, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Realistic, Romance, Romantic Friendship, S&M, Sadism, Secret Organizations, Service, Service Kink, Service Submission, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Slavery, Smut, Social Anxiety, Strong Female Characters, Submission, Submissive Character, Topping, Total Power Exchange, Training, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Useless Lesbians, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 105,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahTheScribe/pseuds/HannahTheScribe
Summary: (Book One of theI'll Give Youseries.) Ezri and Lalia meet in America's modern BDSM scene and pursue a 24/7 M/s dynamic based in service and protocol; Lalia prepares to be Ezri's majordomo when they begin training and selling consenting slaves in a BDSM secret society.  Others pursue the same in a far more questionable manner, and the two, with some help, plot against them.Or, a real 24/7 high protocol service slave takes her first leap into writing kinky fiction.
Relationships: Clara Chen/Lalia Chalmers, Ezri Roderick/Clara Chen, Ezri Roderick/Lalia Chalmers, Jen Lundqvist/Clara Chen
Series: I’ll Give You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867054
Comments: 68
Kudos: 139





	1. One Can Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Want to take the survey and share your opinions about this series? Find the survey [here](https://forms.gle/h2pho3vavpzNT1jr5).
> 
> Want a physical copy or ebook? Find Book One and The First IGY Companion on [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Hannah-The-Scribe/e/B08NPX9Q4L). Also, [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55955242-i-ll-give-you-everything-i-am). Also find Book One on [Barnes and Noble](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ill-give-you-everything-i-am-hannah-the-scribe/1138275367). 
> 
> Want fun extras like fonts and audio? Check [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/igy/).
> 
> Want more, and have something in mind? Request short stories for this series [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/igy-requests/).
> 
> Want more? Find the whole series on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867054) along with my [other works](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034871).
> 
> Want the reality? Read my BDSM nonfiction on [Service Slave Secrets](http://www.serviceslavesecrets.com/) or [FetLife](https://fetlife.com/users/7113554/posts/5648128).
> 
> Want a taste of the trainee life? Find my BDSM education classes [here](https://serviceslavesecrets.com/events/).

“You’re new.” 

“Relatively.” There was vulnerability in admitting to too much inexperience in a place like this, which outweighed politeness. 

“Last few days?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lalia admitted softly. She didn’t need the red wristband on the other woman’s wrist to tell her which side of things she was on. She’d known that from watching the way she interacted with a few others across the room, before her eyes had found Lalia’s and she’d smiled in intrigue, made her way over. Watching, and the environment of Temptation as a slightly unusual BDSM club, told her she’d take the _ma’am_ well. 

“Found any excitement?” 

That wasn’t quite what she was looking for. Not that she was likely to find what she was looking for here. But that took too long to explain. “I intended to mostly watch. Get a feel for things.” 

“Probably wise.” 

“Do you—” _come here often_ was too cliched and not intended but was almost what came out “—frequent here?” _That was worse._

“You could say that. Not the sort of place for my main interests, but one can dream.” Her eyes ran over Lalia. “You seem out of place, yourself.” 

Lalia flushed a little. She probably did. “I don’t think this is the sort of place for my main interests, either.” 

“But? Why are you here?”

“One can dream,” she murmured. 

The other woman smiled, held out her hand. “I’m Ezri.” 

“Lalia,” she said, and shook her hand. 

Ezri’s eyes, blue and behind oval glasses, followed the way her hand returned behind her back afterwards. “How old are you?” 

“Twenty-two.” 

“In school?” 

“Just graduated.” 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.” She offered a little bow of her head, wispy blonde—almost strawberry blonde—strands falling into her eyes. She became aware Ezri was a little older than the seemingly median ages here. Wondered if that _congratulations_ was dryer than it had sounded. 

“You have other education.” No— _that_ was dry. “You’re trained. But I don’t see a collar.” 

“I'm... not. In this.” 

“What _have_ you been trained in?” 

“Just college.” It sounded stupid when she said it, but Ezri laughed, and Lalia found she liked the sound. 

“Then tell me,” said Ezri, “where you got that very specific posture. The natural sounding use of titles. And the neck bow.” 

Lalia flushed again. “I… read.” 

“You read,” Ezri repeated back to her. That was dry, too. Her statement deserved it. 

“I’ve… studied?” 

Ezri laughed again. “Frankly, I think the ability to _read_ might be what makes you seem out of place.” 

Lalia smiled slowly. 

“But you’ve also practiced.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You haven’t been in such a relationship before?” 

“No, ma’am.” Surprised, a little, at the incredulousness. Flattered, maybe. “I read. I practice subtly, or alone, or here, or somewhere like it.” 

“And what are those main interests that aren’t best suited to here?” Ezri asked her. 

“Primarily service. Bits of protocol. Perhaps obviously.” 

Ezri smiled. “We should find a better place to talk.” She turned and clearly expected Lalia to follow her, perhaps a fair expectation. She retrieved a bag left near the people she’d been talking to, earning a raised eyebrow from at least one friend, though she didn’t return an explanation. Lalia didn’t either, silent, not sure what she would say if she did. 

Ezri headed down the stairs. “It’s quieter down here.” There were private rooms here, but usually used for play. Sounds echoed in the hallway, but were more distant with a door to one of those rooms closed behind them. Ezri set the bag near the door. Lalia set her own there, too. “So, you’re not trained, you have no experience, you’ve only been around here for a few days, and you heel perfectly. You’re not trained in submission, maybe, but to have a skill that's based on someone else's moving—you couldn't have practiced that—you’re trained in, what, something like mindfulness. Possibly self trained, but trained nonetheless.” 

“Y-yes, ma’am.” She froze at the evaluation for a moment, then mumbled, “Self trained,” in confirmation. 

“For roughly this purpose?” 

“Yes. … Ma’am.” 

“No yellow wristband in you?” Yellow for Switch. 

Lalia stiffened, caught off guard, and said, “No. Ma’am.” 

Ezri laughed a little. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not interested in pushing you out of your role.” 

Normally the endearment would’ve been another red flag—though in return for the _ma’am_ it felt more fair—and as a counter to the previous question, it set her at ease with odd effectiveness. “Why?” she asked, and elaborated, “I don’t sense much yellow wristband in you either. Not to assume.” 

Ezri smiled. “No, I daresay I keep to one side of the slash myself. I wondered… it might've been wrong to say _yellow wristband._ More of… a majordomo side, given the self training and the service managing training can be.” 

“I haven’t… thought about it much.” She frowned. “It would be… a rare long term scenario, from what I’ve seen?” 

“Yes,” said Ezri, eyes running over her. “Just curious.” She changed the subject, or tried. “You just graduated.  What was your major?” 

Lalia bit her lip. “Education. And psychology. Double majored.” 

Ezri laughed, the irony not lost on her. “You want to be a teacher?” 

“That or social work. Keeping options open.” 

“You like kids?” 

“Not really the idea of my own. Just… I dunno. I think a lot about the teenagers who slip through the cracks. Like the ones who get abused or kicked out for being gay or trans or—” she gestured around the room as if at the concept of Temptation, then shrugged. "Doing something for them. Being one of the ‘okay’ adults.” 

“Noble. And what are you?” 

Lalia laughed. “What…?” 

Ezri’s turn to shrug. “Gender. Sexuality. The sometimes more vanilla side of roles.” 

Lalia shrugged back. “Mostly into women? Femme traits? Personality? I’m flexible? I don’t really care what’s in anyone’s pants. There could be a guy, one day.” 

“‘Could be a guy’. Theoretically. Somewhere. Existing. A person, being male.” 

“Yes,” Lalia smiled. “I believe that one could exist.” She remembered the other half of the question. “I’m not. I’m. A girl. Cis. Never questioned that part.” 

“And how did your… adults, take all that?” She’d guessed, given the softer tone, though it was still a question, not a prodding statement. 

“Not very well.” She laughed, nervous. “Let’s just say I put myself through college. Nothing… extreme.” 

“Anyone else around? Family? Friends? More?” Seeing Lalia’s expression, added, “Pets? Goldfish?” lightly. 

“Friends,” Lalia shrugged vaguely. _Acquaintances._ She’d been so buried in school and working to pay for school for so long—but she didn’t want to be screaming _no one will come looking for me if you take me hostage or something._ “No goldfish now. My sister has a dog." 

“So you have a sister?” 

Lalia laughed. “Oh. Yeah. It’s… been a while. Last I heard, she’d be going as far west for college as she could get right around now.” 

Ezri didn’t press further. 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Anything.” 

Ezri smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrogate you without giving you any answers back. I’m forty-one; I've been in the scene basically since it was legal. I have some family a little farther north but here, friends. Nothing more than that, as much as they like to drag me here hoping that will change. I have owned no goldfish and agree there could be a man out there but don’t care much if there is. I used to be one, but gender is fake anyway.” 

Lalia laughed. “Really, no goldfish?" seemed a light enough response. Forty-one was on the younger end of where she would've placed her, but not out of range. Something about the tallness and chin length hair and navy button down with black jeans seemed telling now.

“I know, I don’t meet many high school graduates who haven’t owned a goldfish yet.” 

“Even I had one. Around fourth grade. The dog ate it. That was about as exciting as it got.” 

“There you go,” said Ezri. Pause. “So, your interests aren’t suited here. You mentioned long term scenarios?” 

“Well, my interests being better suited to that. 24/7 being most appealing.” 

“Define 24/7.” 

Lalia looked puzzled. 

“Live in? Live out? Keeping those career goals? Or no?” 

“Live in ideally. I could definitely stick to service as a career, financials allowing, if it were that involved.” 

“Age limits on your interest?” 

Lalia shrugged. “Very much about the person.” 

“Poly? Mono?” 

“I’d want… I’m flexible. If poly, as a primary. I don’t think I’d be seeing more than one person, maybe a Dom-Dom couple or something.” 

“You say Dom. Do you identify with sub or slave?” 

“Technically slave. Based on how I look at it so far.” 

“How do you look at it?” 

“Based on what most people would just call CNC I guess. TPE. All areas. 24/7. No safewords, no limits, no way out.” Pause. “Not on day one." 

Ezri laughed. “I would hope not.” 

"I get the sense it's not a popular opinion.” 

“Sadly, no. But that’s all about where I’m at. I’d have an opposition to strict monogamy, but I think I’m emotionally monogamous or close. Sorry. I was interrogating you again.”

"That's okay." Lalia's  heart was beating a little faster. “Your friends drag you here?” 

“Well, I let them, to be fair. Their interests suit here better than mine. But I’m not opposed to some of that. It’s just… much further from all of it, for me.” 

“The play?” 

“Hmm,” and a nod. 

“I understand that,” Lalia murmured. 

“But since we’re here… would you like to?” 

“Play?” 

“Hmm,” and a nod again. 

“What… are your interests there?” 

“Oh, I’m flexible. Bit of everything. No sex for now, not without testing paperwork and proof of birth control. I brought a small variety of things.” Compared to Lalia’s bag, it couldn’t have been that _small._ “Mostly impact or electric. Restraints to go with either.” 

“Hmm.” Electric was tempting, something she hadn’t played with much—twice, barely more than testing it, with the same relative novice, a long time ago. A probably less frequent first offer. She’d done a lot more with impact comparatively and it was easier to find, but it had been a long time since she’d gotten that, too, and that was something she frequently ached for when it wasn’t something more _involved_ than that, or just sex or even just touching _._ Bit her lip. “What did you bring for impact?” 

Ezri retrieved her bag and just about emptied it onto the bed, sparsely made, with clearly waterproof linens, opportunities for restraints. 

Ezri did a quick re-sorting of the items. “Primarily canes, paddles, floggers, a belt.” 

“All sounds good to me,” said Lalia, and it was supposed to sound like a joke, and it came out a little too soft and awed. But it was true. 

Ezri smiled. “Nothing you’d like to take out from this selection?” 

Lalia forced herself to do a more detailed scan. Shook her head. “No, ma’am.” 

“Very well. Restraints, or no? I should ask first—what positions you like.” 

“I’m open to options…” Trailing off, eyes running over those implements again, potentials. “I’ve never really done much OTK. I’d like to. If you would be interested.” She was feeling brave, apparently, proposing that. She did want it and it wasn’t the position that scared her but the vulnerability of the request. 

“We can do that. If you’d like the floggers and the longer canes, though, we’d need at least one other." 

Lalia did like the thought of the floggers. Thought. 

“The floggers make a good warmup, if you’d want to start bent over the bed with those, and then move to OTK and the other implements later. You’d still have one of the canes. Maybe the same for cooldown, depending on how it goes.” 

Lalia nodded. “Good plan.” 

“I'd guess mostly waist down area impact?” 

Lalia nodded. 

“House safeword—red?” 

Lalia nodded again. 

“Limits I should know about, assuming I roughly stick to what we talk about?” 

Lalia shrugged. “Nothing I think we’ll run into.” 

“Any medical things I should know?” 

“Very mild asthma. I have an inhaler, in my bag, if it comes to that. It hasn’t been an issue before. You?” 

Ezri shook her head, barely displacing her fluffy brown bob that fell to her chin. “Aftercare?” 

“Nothing critical. I mean, it might… be nice to just… talk. Like… about anything. Maybe nice things. I… dunno.” 

“Praise, debriefing?” 

“Basically.” She wasn’t sure that was how she was meant to respond, but Ezri got the idea. “Like… touching is nice, I guess. Something still kind of… headspacey? Like not… not too… egalitarian.” 

“More like you have your head in my lap and I stroke your hair than we curl up next to each other.” 

“Exactly.” Surprised that Ezri had gotten that so clearly out of her stammering. “If there’s anything you want…” 

“I think I’ll be fine with that. Few s-types ask.” 

“They should,” Lalia said. 

“They should,” Ezri agreed. “Backtracking—restraints?” 

Lalia bit her lip. “In general, yes. I kind of… I kind of like just having to keep still enough. Like, being told to do that.” 

“Hmm,” said Ezri, thoughtful, then smiled. “I like that idea. I would imagine… things like counting and all that might appeal to you.” 

“Yes,” said Lalia, slightly breathy. “Ma’am.” 

“Level of dressed or undressed?” 

“Whatever works.” 

“Anything else you’d like to cover?” 

Lalia shook her head. “Not in particular.” 

Ezri took her hand and guided her to the side of the bed, let go and gave her a slight push so she was bent over the bed, her hands on it. “Hmm.” She guided Lalia by the wrists to lean her torso against the bed, hands in front of her. “Better.” 

Lalia’s breathing quickened as Ezri picked up one of the light floggers and returned, ran it down Lalia’s back, up her thighs. Pulled her dress up, gray fabric bunching, her panties down, and caressed her skin with the tails before starting with light taps, light swings, that didn’t hurt, just felt nice, provided the slightest bit of sting. A little harder. Maybe every five strokes, one came much harder than the others, but still light overall. More. They were starting to build up. A bit of heat in her skin. Her breathing came shakier and she ached for more, more, more—but Ezri was taking her time. Fair. 

She picked up another flogger, which provided a sharper sting, a new sensation, a lighter sounding _thwap_ and hit her a bit harder with it, the one-every-five-strokes harder strikes coming much harder. Pause. Absent petting down her back with the flogger, up her thighs. “One to ten? One being you feel no pain, ten being red?” 

“Three,” said Lalia softly. 

Ezri continued. Switched back to the other flogger soon, and while it didn’t sting as much it came harder this time. Enough she jumped at those pointedly harder strikes and gasped at even some well placed softer ones. 

Still, she whimpered when Ezri stopped _,_ petting her with it again _. “_ More of this? Or would you like to be over my knee now?” 

_Oh…_ “I’d like that,” she murmured, realizing that wasn’t terribly coherent but Ezri interpreted correctly. Guided her upright by the shoulder, and sat on the bed herself. 

“Come here.” 

The simple expectation of obedience in her voice was intoxicating in itself. Lalia draped herself over her lap, trying to wriggle helpfully into a better position as Ezri shifted, placed a leg over hers, her hand on her lower back, brushing her dress back out of the way. 

When Ezri hit her this time it was with her hand. Something they hadn’t quite talked about but Lalia was glad was assumed. She’d always liked hand spankings. Something intimate about it, if the sensation left a bit more to be desired. The sting of it was more intense on her thighs, and able to come more rapid fire than the flogger. 

Ezri selected a spot on her right thigh and hit it again and again, hard, until Lalia whimpered and squirmed. Ezri’s hand at her back was firm. “Still,” she reminded her as her wriggling increased. Her body took the order before her mind had processed it, and even then her thoughts seemed quieter, slower. 

Soon, Ezri shifted to pick up an implement Lalia couldn’t—and didn’t try to—twist and see. It felt like a paddle resting against her, the wood cool on her skin for now. Tapping. Harder. _Crack._

She jumped. One of her hands had started to move defensively but hadn’t quite gotten there. Ezri continued. The strikes came slightly slower but harder—or maybe that was just the implement, a much heavier impact. Thuddier than anything else yet. Whimpers fell from her lips unbidden. 

“One to ten?” Ezri asked her, pausing, running the paddle over her thighs. Much warmer now. 

Lalia bit her lip. Her hair almost fell in her mouth and she regretted not putting it up, that moment of thinking it would be more appealing down. “Six.” 

“Do you want to go higher, or lower?” 

“Higher.” That was easier than thinking of numbers. _More._

“What’s the highest you want to go?” 

Hard to define. She didn’t want to play to a safeword right now. Nor get too close. “Eight and a half,” she murmured, and having mentioned _halves_ she said, “Maybe nine.” Not nine and a half. Not at that brink. But close. Ezri could’ve talked her into ten easily and she knew it and knew it probably shouldn’t have been so true. 

“Tell me when you’re at a solid eight,” Ezri told her. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Ezri set the paddle aside and picked up something else. Cane. Not wood, probably one of the materials Lalia hadn’t been able to identify on sight. 

It stung. It was much quieter than the paddle but having such a small target area increased its intensity. The _swish_ was what indicated a harder strike more than the impact itself, and her muscles knew it, tensing based on it. Slow. Getting gradually harder, then back to the softest. Back up again... The pattern was divine. She sighed shakily. She could do this forever. 

It took a few repetitions for her to realize it wasn’t quite going back to the softest strike. Perhaps the second softest from the immediately previous set. Building up on her sore skin. “ _Mmph_.” Wriggling, stopping herself, Ezri’s leg actually holding hers down. “Ah!” The hardest one yet. She whimpered and flailed when the next one, if softer, came quickly. 

Ezri’s hand pressed at her back. Pause. “Deep breath.” 

Lalia took one in, had just started to release it when the cane hit her again, much harder, and jumped and lost the air all at once. 

The cane didn’t come again. 

Pause. Panting. The awareness of sweating. A second paddle rested against her. Not the first one. The cool wood again on her hot skin. When Ezri pressed it into her, making her gasp as it pushed into the marks, she felt that it was the one with holes in it. 

Ezri started with it lightly, but rapidly amped up. This stung much more than the other paddle but was still less concentrated than the cane. Lalia panted and whimpered and gasped and squirmed, but not too much. “Eight!” she gasped after the latest and hardest strike. 

Ezri gave her one more and paused. She set the implement aside and ran her hand over what would probably be bruises and weals later. Felt Lalia relax a little, the weight in her lap shifting. She took pain decently and marked better. Ezri would want to see those marks later, if Lalia was at all willing. She was much paler than Ezri, sparse light freckles, and the forming bruises showed nicely. “I’ll give you a choice,” she murmured, stroking her. “I can give you a little bit more like this, with the belt, and then cool down with the floggers like how we started. Or, we can finish with the belt, and try to finish with you at that nine. Either way you’re going to count them.” 

Lalia shuddered under her touch. 

“Whichever one you’d like.” 

Lalia whimpered. She liked the idea of being pushed further. In theory. But it scared her a little. The flogger cooldown was a safe choice. But a bit boring. Ezri had opened with the idea of the floggers and so the belt offer was… new. Based on…? Maybe Ezri thought she would like it. Could take it. Wanted to try it herself. She had to find out. 

“Finish with the belt,” she whispered. “Please. Ma’am.” 

“Very well.” The belt, oddly sturdy even for being folded in half, brushed her skin. Just that much touch hurt right now, a little. Ezri’s voice was deceptively soft. “I’m going to give you five. After each stroke, you’re going to count it and thank me for it. After the five, you’re going to tell me if you want another five. Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Ezri hit her, _hard_. Lalia gasped, her hands clenching into fists, body tensing. “One,” she whispered, on a shaky exhale. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

Again. A little choked sound fell from her lips. “Two,” she got out, panting. “Th-thank… thank you, ma’am.” 

Another. A sob found its way out. “Three,” she said through clenched teeth. Felt tears on her cheeks. Another sob like noise. Trying to get in a good breath before accepting the next with, “Thank you, ma’am.” 

Ezri gave her one more moment. One more stroke. “Four.” The word was a whimper. Almost there. Yet part of her loved this feeling of helplessness. She sniffled. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

One more stroke. The quiet sobs escaped properly. More tears. “Five. Thank you, ma’am.” The words came easier when they didn’t delay anything. 

Ezri rubbed her back. “I would guess you don’t want another five,” she said lightly. 

Lalia laughed, though it came out through crying, and shook her head. The belt withdrew from her senses. Ezri’s other hand running over her thighs, soothing. “Breathe, sweetheart. You can stay there as long as you like.” 

It was more comfortable than it should have been, physically and emotionally, to stay there. Catch her breath. Let Ezri caress her bruising skin. She sighed and relaxed against her. Finally made herself slide back off of her lap, on her knees on the floor. Inhaled sharply as her heels hit the bruises. 

“Water?” Ezri offered. 

“Please.” Her throat was so dry, she cleared it after she said the word. Ezri brought her some, a sealed bottle she opened for her. “Thank you.” She took it with shaking hands, took a few sips and sighed. Closed it and set it down. Ezri offered her tissues, which she took too, and then sat on the bed again, pulled Lalia’s head into her lap and stroked her hair. Repetitive, comforting, like the feeling of the bruises was now, the feeling of being on the floor at Ezri’s feet. “That was… that was nice,” she said.

“I agree,” said Ezri. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. We should talk more.” 

Lalia nodded, though her thoughts still felt fuzzy. “When I have words,” she mumbled. 

“Yes,” Ezri smiled. “Later.” 


	2. The Network

Lalia was fairly certain she was lost. The long driveway she pulled up on could not have belonged to any human being as… what? Reasonable? Down to earth? As Ezri was.

She checked the address she had again, and the message that had called it _home._ She checked the map again. The address on the house again. 

Well, she’d had the right gate code, and nothing else in this neighborhood seemed much more suiting. Her car that had generously started today seemed out of place on any of these driveways. Much more suited to the lot in front of her studio apartment, or the one nearest her old dorm. 

So she found her way up the long path to the front door. Rang the bell, which made a regal high pitched sound. 

At this rate, she was surprised when Ezri opened it. Didn’t leave her waiting long, wondering, though she was getting self conscious about the effects of the humid heat outside. 

“Lalia,” she smiled. “Come in.” 

Lalia did and was trying to keep her expression at something appropriate, which, due to effort needed, ended up being blank as she took the place in. 

Ezri’s hand was almost too casual at the small of her back, shutting the door behind her. “You’re early. It’s always refreshing when someone’s early. Or on time.” Wry smile. 

Lalia’d frozen. She was aware of that. “Hopefully not _too_ early,” she murmured. 

“Not at all. It’s a little warm out there, isn’t it?” 

“Just a tad.” 

Ezri, indoors, seemed comfortable in a soft looking emerald flannel shirt, open over a black tee, and dark jeans.  “Would you like anything to drink?” 

She almost said no out of habit, but was overheated and glad she caught herself. “Water, please?” 

Ezri lead the way towards the kitchen, off to the left. “Ice?” 

“Please." 

“Sit.” Ezri gestured at a bar stool at the island. Lalia did. 

Ezri brought her the water. Glass, not plastic. The stove didn’t look electric. Stainless steel appliances. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, taking a sip and feeling a little better, by way of Ezri’s calm normalcy. 

Ezri sat next to her, ran her fingers over a pleat in Lalia’s skirt, the gray one. “Pretty,” she said. “It suits you.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said again. She was watching Ezri touch her more than feeling it. It was distracting—good, but distracting. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

“Why didn’t you wear it to Temptation?” 

Lalia shrugged. “It seemed less suited.” More water, the color in her cheeks not from the temperature. 

“You didn’t expect it to be anyone else’s favorite, maybe?” Challenging smile. 

“Maybe.” 

“How have you been?” 

As if they hadn’t talked. About those test results and birth control proof and a BDSM checklist and dreams and what she’d had for breakfast (if she’d had breakfast) and where she was working today and if her car was interested in helping with that. “Fine… busy… tired.” Increasingly honest answers as Ezri continued to raise an eyebrow at her. 

“With?” 

“What?” 

“Busy with… what?” 

“Work, mostly.” Too many jobs that paid too little. “I meant to ask…” Stalling with water again. 

“Hmm?” 

“If you don’t mind. What do you… _do_?” 

Ezri smiled. “A good question. One for later, I think. For now—tour?” 

Lalia, startled by the lack of an answer despite her disclaimer, said, “Sure,” and hopped down from the barstool when Ezri stood, and started leading the way around the house. 

The _what do you do_ became more pressing the more of it Lalia saw. That big entry room with dramatic stairwell, the long driveway and path and ample greenery, patio with outdoor dining in back. That kitchen. A living area from the right of the entry. A breakfast nook in the kitchen in addition to the island, half enclosed in windows, though there was also a proper dining room off the kitchen, not like Lalia had been waiting for one. Two large guest rooms. Laundry. Garage. Bathrooms… Ezri’s office upstairs. A guest office, also upstairs. An upstairs play room or dungeon for parties that confirmed Ezri’s _small selection_ brought to Temptation was far from sarcasm. A large loft turned actual room, Ezri explained.

Finally they sat in that living room. Lalia gave her a questioning look when Ezri sat on one of the couches at the conclusion of their tour and Ezri said, “That couch is fine,” gesturing to the one across from her. “Or here, if you like.” The floor at her feet. 

Lalia chose the latter, which seemed to please her. 

“So, you want to know what I do.” 

Lalia perked up at this, nodding. 

“Tell me what you thought of that article I sent you.” Ezri had said they’d discuss it in person. A distraction, maybe. 

But Lalia went along with it. For now. “It was interesting. It seemed… very practical? For the subject?” 

“Hmm. How so?” 

Lalia tilted her head. 

“Why practical _for the subject_?” 

The article had outlined a hypothetical sort of BDSM community that was exclusive, secretive—organized, even loosely interconnected between places. With some universal protocols and expectations but room for individuality, monetization of slave trading and training that wasn’t just personal, with some framework of consent still in place. 

“I would expect a lot of articles to go very fantasy on the topic. But this was very… down to earth. It wasn’t trying to ignore realities to make it all as erotic as possible. It talked about the legalities and economics more than... detailing vaguely erotic but unlivable rules, you know? It sounded… almost business like.” 

“So you’ve put it together.” 

Lalia tried to take in the realization that Ezri was right; she had. “It’s… an insane assumption.” It was more than an article. A test of viewpoint. 

“But you’re right.” 

“That…” What to say. “But this is a sprawling idea,” she said carefully, unsure still how right she was and what that meant. “So what… is your part?” 

“Well,” said Ezri; “right now? Not much. Contracts paying off keep me going. I used to work in publishing in the vanilla world.  Then, when I realized I didn't need a day job, I did high level training. Customized to the next Owner’s preferences, or to fix concerns in an existing dynamic. And that… was nice. It got me some good contacts and paid really well. But… there was a lot of playing by other people’s rules, enforcing standards or lack thereof I didn’t agree with personally. Now…” She trailed off, let Lalia have a second to take that in. 

Lalia nodded.

“I want to do some of the more basic training—which is repetitive, but it leaves a lot more room for… creativity. Bringing out the exact role someone fits into naturally. Figuring them out. Trying your own techniques. And you can usually work on more like four to six people at a time, instead of one to two. But there’s a lot more of the mundane in it. Paperwork, logistics, the very day to day training. Keeping track of six people. So to be able to really get into the part I want to do—I wanted someone willing to do that part without wanting to... impose their own desires. Which lends itself to a service slave more than to someone else on the left side of the slash, but it needs… a bit of a middle ground. It would be ideal to have someone of my own anyway, and I’m apparently picky. I don’t want someone who would be any less submissive to _me_.” Pause. 

“You asked…” 

“Yes.” 

_If I had a majordomo side. Do I?_

“You,” said Ezri, “caught my eye for a few reasons. Besides having—so far—what I would want in someone submissive to me, you have the right bearing for it, and you’re passionate about learning in this arena.” 

“And have a degree in education,” Lalia mumbled. 

“That too,” Ezri smiled. “For what it’s worth, I think the psychology one would serve you well too.” 

“So what do you…” Lalia was lost for words. “What do you… propose?” 

“I think,” said Ezri, “you should read a few more things about the reality of this network, a few things about the path and goals I’d have in mind, and get some space from me while you do, and think about it. Then we can talk again, any questions, whatnot. No rush.” 

Lalia nodded slowly. 

“I don’t want to force or manipulate or coax you into something you don’t want. If you end up with me in a slightly different role, if you want to be in network with someone else… I won’t hold anything against you. If you start and then want out altogether—I’ll help you with the logistics.” 

Lalia kept nodding. This was… a lot to take in. Ezri was right that space would be good. She couldn’t think of anything unbiasedly sitting at Ezri’s feet, Ezri’s fingers in her hair… and she did need more information, answers to questions she couldn’t even think of yet. 

“Look at me.” Ezri tapped her under the chin. 

Lalia did. 

“I don’t want you to worry.” 

“I won’t." 

“Good girl. I’ll send you those things later. Right now, though, I want to take you upstairs and fuck you senseless. Would you like that?” 

It made Lalia laugh a little somehow. “Yes, ma’am. I’d love that.” 

Ezri smiled. “Good. Come with me.” They stood, and Ezri led her by the hand back to that master bedroom. Released her. “Undress.” 

Lalia still flushed a little as she did so with Ezri’s eyes on her, not particularly humiliated but feeling… _vulnerable,_ the refreshing air conditioning suddenly cold and raising goosebumps on her skin, fingers shivering when she tried to undo each button on her shirt. She loosely folded her clothes and set them on the foot of the bed. Ezri ran her fingers over the skirt again, no longer on her. “I do like this on you,” she said. “I like it off of you better.” 

Lalia smiled, eyes on the floor. Ezri’s hands were warmer than the air, running over her, her lips warm too, at her throat, her shoulder, lower. Then on hers. Soft to the touch but the kiss was insistent, tender but needy. Need sprang up in her, too. Ezri’s right hand settled in her hair, a slight consistent tug that fed her desire, guided more than pulled her to the floor in a moment, perhaps only because she wanted to be there. Ezri shifted out of her clothes from the waist down, sat on the bed, pulled Lalia back to her, murmured, “That’s a good girl,” while Lalia’s lips and tongue and throat found her cock and explored.

Ezri hummed contentedly and fingered Lalia’s hair. The motions felt nice, not starting a wildfire in her but slowly adding fuel to a mildly burning hearth. She lay back and let Lalia work on her. She pulled out a few techniques that usually indicated at least casual training, research, or simply a lot of experience—and Ezri knew which one it was, but that was still interesting. She tried to just enjoy it, happy to bask in it for a while, murmured the occasional praise, “ _That’s it_ ,” but mostly communicated with her hand tightening in Lalia’s hair or slight thrusts.

Finally she wanted _more,_ and couldn’t give in to lying mostly passive any longer. She pulled Lalia off of her, watched the cute way her tongue flicked around her lips when she did, thought, _I could get used to that,_ and said, “Up here.” She set her glasses on the nightstand. 

Lalia climbed onto the bed with her, as Ezri shifted towards the headboard, lay on her back at Ezri’s pressing and shuddered as Ezri’s fingertips ran down her side—perhaps tickled—shifting over to between her legs. Damp—interested—but not soaked. Ezri stroked her, moving the lubrication up towards her clit, moving her fingers in tighter and faster circles; Lalia whimpered, breathy, eyes closed and her left hand finding Ezri’s thigh, trying to clutch at _something,_ shifting to help Ezri’s touch find the right spots. 

She wouldn’t do this every time—hoping there was an _every time_ —but right now, she had certain motives in mind, and wanted her needy and desperate, not barely able to take her. "You’re going to ask me before you come.”

“Yes, ma’am." 

Slipped one finger inside of her—much better—then two. Lalia released a shaky sigh, rocking her hips to meet Ezri’s fingers. Three. Louder whimpers, gasps of breath, her head tilted back on the pillow. Good. Ezri stopped, shifted over her, and slipped into her.  _Mmm._ Warm and now wet and still tight and microclenching around her. She might want to be generous with the foreplay again in the future, or have Lalia take care of it, if she were this tight. 

Lalia’s eyes fluttered open as Ezri fucked her, moving back against her, making little sounds of pleasure, her lips parted, and Ezri liked watching her. She shifted a hand back to Lalia’s hair, pulled—Lalia moaned softly. Pulled it back, slapped her—not especially hard, but enough for the effect of it, enough to sting a little—got something between a yelp and a whimper that went straight to her cock. Raked her nails down Lalia’s chest, hand snaked between them, examined the pink lines raised on her skin, hissed, “You like that? Hmm?” An insistent tug at Lalia’s hair again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lalia breathed. Ezri’s lips suckling at her throat. “ _Fuck_ ,” Lalia mumbled helplessly, trying to pull Ezri somehow closer, flushed.

Ezri laughed, though it came breathy too. “I've noticed.” 

Lalia was wetter, desperately trying to rock against her faster, a running whimper on her lips barely pausing when Ezri kissed her again. 

“But—” she might need to talk fast; pleasure was getting to her, too “—let me tell you something, sweetheart. You told me all about how much you love chastity and denial for focus and being _used_ only for someone else’s pleasure without worrying about yours—and we’re going to test that.”

_“Please,_ ma’am,” slipped from Lalia’s lips. 

“You’re not going to come. I am.” Something in her clenched; _fuck._ “Very soon. And we’ll see what that does to you.” 

Moments later, she found her own release, buried deep inside Lalia, moaning into her neck, nails digging into her hips, spasming, fucking her desperately in a way that had to be ramping Lalia up too, even knowing she had to hold the orgasm back. Panting in the aftermath, suddenly aware of how hot it was, the sweat on both of their skin, sticking between them. Ezri let herself actually rest on her, felt her rapid breathing, still desperately trying to come down from the edge even with Ezri still inside her. 

Ezri, in a moment of mercy, slipped out of her, rolled onto her side next to her. Lalia moaned, eyes tightly closed, fingers curled in the sheets, still _twitching_. Ezri traced a finger over her chest. 

When both of their breathing had slowed, and Lalia’s eyes fluttered open again, body relaxed a little, Ezri confirmed, “Did you come?” 

Lalia shook her head rapidly. “No, ma’am,” she whispered. Then, “Of course not.” 

Ezri laughed softly. She hadn’t thought so. Just wanted to check. “Good girl,” she told her, and trailed kisses on her cheek. “ _Very_ good girl.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said as her eyes closed again. Released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. 

Ezri nudged her a little so she could see her from the back. “The bruises are mostly gone,” she commented. Her fingers ran over where they had been, a few weals lingering. Lalia had—by polite request—sent pictures as they developed, then faded. “I’ll be right back.” She shifted upright. “Breathe. Clean yourself up, get dressed.” Vague gesture at the master bathroom. 

“Yes, ma’am.” An almost sleepy mumble. 

When Ezri returned, Lalia was put together again, dressed minus shoes, as Ezri was. She’d smoothed out the bedsheets too, sat on the foot of the bed. Ezri twisted a strand of her hair around her fingers and said, “Your hair is so soft. But it would look pretty braided—two of them. Goes with the schoolgirly outfit.” 

Lalia turned several shades of red.

“Then again, harder to play with.” A shift of her hand, pull. Lalia’s sharp intake of breath; Ezri’s lips on hers, smiling. This kiss was brief, but lingering. Ezri released her, held out the glass of water she’d left downstairs, full again. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, and took it, a few long sips. It had been long enough for her to forget how _dehydrating_ sex was. She’d been eager to explore once she’d gotten out to college, and then had less time and less energy to once she was buried in 300 and 400 levels and more jobs as those little debts added up. It had been an effort to compromise sleep for Temptation. 

Ezri took the water back and set it on the nightstand, gave Lalia a little shove back to lying down on the bed, lay with her, Lalia still post sex sleepy against her chest, lulled by her breathing. 

They lay like that for a while, and talked, and Ezri pulled over her phone and sent Lalia an already ready to go email before they even got out of bed, to read later. 

Later, when she had space. Not curled up in Ezri’s arms, and wanting to never leave. 

She did leave, though, later. She had things to do. Not before Ezri teased her back to that edge, without letting anything come of it, whispered in her ear that she was free to do what she liked about that _once she got home_ , and Lalia kept thinking she _would_ do something about it, but, home, wanted to bask in the feeling for a while longer, the glow she had told Ezri about while they were curled up on the bed after.

Bask, and read that email.


	3. Tell Me

Lalia read the email, everything in it, then read it again. And again. And again. When she didn’t have something else to be doing, she reread it, or thought about it, or wrote down questions, or considered texting Ezri and then didn’t.

The email looked so normal given its contents. From _Ezria Roderick_ to _Eulalia Chalmers_. _3:08 PM._

But the contents… 

End goals—a lot of the ideals they had discussed. A 24/7 live in dynamic, monogamy from Lalia’s side unless Ezri ordered her otherwise, the expectation—if never using the word guarantee—of monogamy from Ezri in any long term M/s and _the emotional intricacies thereof_. The eventual expectation of complete CNC, something Ezri would _like to get to for simplification before we begin involving others_. 

General schedule ideas, expected eventual services. Rules, protocols, positions (including curtsies, something Lalia had never practiced much). Baselines. The note of it being a corrigible agreement, further discussion and experimentation needed. One note mentioned figuring out where she should sleep, and another said, _There was a section pondering uniforms, but I realized I have a different taste with you. Discuss later._

On titles and roles. _Slave, property,_ and _majordomo_ as primary role labels Ezri currently thought offor Lalia. In rare vanilla scenarios, she predicted calling Lalia her _assistant,_ rather than a romantic label and wouldn’t identify this as a romantic relationship with that line of progression even if it contained a lot of the elements of it. She would likely call herself Lalia’s _Owner_ (she disliked Master or Mistress as a title herself) and had _ma’am_ as her honorific of choice. _Ms. Ezri_ to refer to her to someone else in network or in the scene, _Ms. Roderick_ in vanilla settings.

An annotation said, _I know what you’re thinking. Don’t try to learn all of this by heart right now._

It made Lalia smile. Gave her a little bit of confidence that maybe Ezri did understand her, something she hadn’t doubted but also kept thinking maybe she should.

This was all still a little insane.

These were all to be handled, learned, detailed, before other people got involved, likely a matter of months.

So then, what she’d expect of Lalia as a majordomo when they got to that. Basic overseeing, delegating, and being an in between. The mundanities Ezri had mentioned. Teaching. Reporting trainee infractions to Ezri for a decision, but sometimes handling the discipline herself. Lalia hesitated at that. 

The next day was hectic and she had heard nothing from Ezri by the evening, as eagerly as she’d checked her phone. So she typed and deleted and typed and deleted. Finally sent:

_Hi. I read your email. How would you like to discuss?_

It felt like an understatement. 

The response came quickly. _In person. When can you come over?_

Lalia wanted to say _whenever you want_ but that wasn’t really true... yet. So she sent options, ranging from the ambitious _tonight_ to a limited afternoon slot three days out.

Ezri, to Lalia’s surprise—and delight—chose _tonight._

Lalia promised she’d get ready and head over. And she did—trying to not forget things to do, but trying to not make Ezri wait. Threw a few things back in her bag, did a mirror check and realized she was still wearing her work uniform and her hair was a mess. She dressed again, in a similar shirt and the exact skirt she’d worn to Ezri’s last time (recently laundered) since she’d seemed fond of it. On that note… as she brushed out her hair, she thought of Ezri’s comment on it and placed it in two pigtails, braided maybe three-quarters of the hair on each side into fishtails, and elasticed off the braids. The two braids as mentioned, but something _to play with._

She texted Ezri an ETA as she headed out the door for the bus. Which she’d mentioned doing in her text, to which Ezri said, _More car trouble?_

_Yes, ma’am._

_I’ll come get you. It’ll be faster. Address?_

Lalia gave it to her with the same self consciousness she’d admitted to the car trouble with. Ezri estimated twenty minutes.

Waiting was agony. In case she wanted to come in, Lalia hastily tidied her already tidied apartment, looked around the small space and decided to just discourage this by waiting outside.

At the bottom of the stairs... too eager? The balcony landing seemed weird.

Ezri arrived when she had said she would, finding Lalia mid _did I actually lock the door_ check. She had. She raced down the stairs, trying to not look like she was racing, and at Ezri’s gesture got in the passenger seat. 

The car’s air conditioning felt nice even with the sun mostly down, and had thoroughly cooled the leather seats she could feel on part of her thighs, with the skirt.

“Hi,” she said, not remembering why she was blushing until Ezri fingered one of the pigtails. 

“You read _and_ you listen.” Her other hand found the fabric of Lalia’s skirt. “Good girl.” Kissed her cheek and started to pull out of the spot.

“Thank you, ma’am.” She found a response once Ezri wasn’t touching her. Softly, waiting to turn out of the lot onto the street, “You haven’t done much confirming that I… listen.” 

“How so?” Made the turn.

Perhaps Ezri had, as Lalia began to think about it. But it would be interesting to see what she counted. She hadn’t meant to start the interaction this way. But… 

“What… how… hmm. How do you know I... listen?” 

“You, by yourself, studied and practiced useful mannerisms and more that you thought someone might want. You’re polite, punctual, take orders even when they're unpleasant, and make choices according to my preferences. And you're the only person on the right side of the slash I’ve heard of offering aftercare in possibly years.” 

Lalia flushed. “I guess,” she whispered.

They didn’t discuss the email in the car. Ezri’s place had something different about it just past sunset—all of the lights very warm, but not too bright, a little less stark. Her neighborhood was much quieter than Lalia’s. 

They sat at the breakfast nook table with some coffee, and Ezri finally said, “So. The email.” 

Lalia looked at her expectantly, though she didn’t say anything else. She became aware that she was sensing a bit of nervousness from her and on the one hand, at least she wasn’t the only one. On the other… why? Still, her instinct was to try and soothe it. “It was… agreeable overall,” she said, not sure if that was too forward.

It did seem to relax Ezri though, if it made Lalia’s heart beat a little faster. “Questions?” 

“Too many,” Lalia said, with a self deprecating laugh, and pulled a list out of her bag.

Ezri smiled. “You probably shouldhave ‘too many’ questions at this point.” Her eyes ran over Lalia’s list, although it was upside down to her. Lalia turned it so they could both see it. “Anywhere you’d like to start?”

“Not in particular.” 

“From the top, then.” The first line had a few words crossed out and finally: “Monogamy unless ordered otherwise.” Ezri looked at Lalia. Lalia looked back. “That’s not a question,” said Ezri. "What’s the question attached?” 

Lalia thought. That was a far better phrased question than anything she was about to say. “What… do you expect that to mean?” she asked, and didn’t blame Ezri for the slightly puzzled look. “Who would you make an exception for, how often, for how long, doing what, with or without you, why… etc.” 

Ezri laughed softly. “All right, that’s a lot of questions,” she said. “And… it depends. Like I said, I wouldn’t tell you to do something unsafe, or that would violate anyone else’s consent, even indirectly. Like, I wouldn’t tell you to play with someone whose partner expects monogamy from them. Or to risk your health, or bottom for someone who didn’t know how to Top for the activity. Someone I’m teaching how to swing a flogger, maybe. An idiot for knife play, no.” 

Lalia nodded. That… was reasonable. Good. Consent positive. Not much more she’d want agreed to on those fronts.

“Most likely, I’d tell you to take over some of the basic sexual or play type training for someone, probably once off, like a time I didn’t feel like doing it. It might mean receiving and giving feedback, or teaching bottoming skills by way of Topping.” 

“Receiving and giving feedback?”

Ezri shook her head. “Receiving like technically ‘bottoming’, for something a future Owner might want. And giving feedback on it.” 

“Ah.” Lalia nodded. That made more sense than… whatever she’d tried to first picture, if it was still a bit of a strange idea. Was it so weird to feel more okay with the objectively intense demands as a slave right off the bat, than with the idea of soon having… control elsewhere? 

“Thoughts?” 

Lalia’s turn to shake her head. “I… got onto a different thought train.”

“How so?” 

“It’s not…” 

Ezri raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m still wrapping my head around that more than anything else,” she mumbled.

“Around?”

“Training others. Is that… crazy?” 

“No,” Ezri said gently. “It’s not a role you’ve thought about for very long. It makes sense you’ve thought your way through a lot of the rest of it, because those were the parts you knew you wanted. No matter how you feel about it in the end… it makes sense to have doubts now. Didn’t you have doubts about the rest of it the first time you really thought about it?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, and then, “And no. It wasn’t like… if I could do it. If I wanted to, even. It was like… is this a good idea?” 

“You wanted it. You just weren’t sure if you should _._ ” 

Lalia nodded.

“That’s reasonable. There’s a lot of mixed messages out there. Not to mention logistic issues.” 

“But this… I mean, it’s not like I’m… I don’t think… I don’t think that being a majordomo isn’t a _good idea._ It’s… the, can I.” 

“Do you want to?”

“Right.” 

“No,” said Ezri. “ _Do_ you want to? Forget current abilities. Forget logistics. Do you _want_ to?"

It was a very good question. One she’d turned over in her head over and over again in the last few days. “I think so,” she said softly.

“Then that’s where you start.” 

Lalia nodded, and then the words came out all at once. “I was thinking—I mean, you laughed, when I said I majored in education—and you should—and the psychology degree, like you said—I just—it’s not even being nervous about skills. It’s—I can teach—it’s not a bad idea—I _like_ that role—but—it’s always been… separate. I thought, in my little fantasy world, I’d be a slave and basically a housewife or I’d be alone or in much less of a dynamic or vanilla and be a teacher or a social worker or something.” 

“You can’t reconcile the two roles.”

“No, I—I _can_ , it’s just… very abstract right now.” She was almost out of breath. 

Ezri’s hand rested over hers on the table. “Maybe, the more details you get into, the better you’ll feel.” 

Lalia finally got in a deep breath. Pondered, for a moment, the inhaler at the bottom of her bag. But this was just anxiety. Nodded.

“And, you said yourself, if you were going to not have a career, if you were going to make serving someone your full time profession, you would really want it to be full time _._ Not be idle.” 

“And this is… a way to do that.” 

“Right.” 

“Okay.” Lalia frowned, thinking. 

“Did you have anything else on that? Or on monogamy?”

Lalia shook her head slightly. Still mostly lost in thought.

“Well,” said Ezri, “I had one more thing on monogamy.”

Lalia perked up at this.

“On the flip side, beyond offering services to some guests in a subservient manner, I might tell you to bottom for another Top now and then. Sex or play. It’s not a big interest of mine but I’m a show off and eventually someone reasonable is gonna ask and I’m not gonna be able to resist saying yes if you’ve already agreed.”

Lalia laughed. “I’m not much to show off.” 

“I disagree,” said Ezri, tracing her fingers over the back of Lalia’s hand. “And as a reminder, if you signed that contract, you would be agreeing to not disparage me or the things I am fond of. Including you.” 

Lalia froze. Finally stammered, “I—I didn’t… didn't mean…”

“Didn’t you?” 

Lalia lowered her head in acquiescence, but Ezri tapped her under the chin. “Just something to think about,” she said softly.

Lalia nodded, unsure what to say to that.

“On to the next question?”

Lalia nodded again.

“Sleep.” Ezri looked at her.

“Well,” Lalia said, “you mentioned figuring out where I would sleep. I wasn’t sure if you had more thoughts on that.”

“I’ve thought about it more since I sent that email,” she admitted. “I see a few options. One, you sleep in the master bedroom with me, on some kind of alternate arrangement. Two, you sleep with the trainees, the guest rooms, beds. Three, you sleep on a bed or something like it in your office, which would be more like your room in that case. Advantages—you’re easily accessible to me in the master bedroom. Accessible to trainees in their room. Bit more space in your office for you. Cons—you wouldn’t have a bed in the master, no distinction of status in the trainee room, not accessible in your office.” 

Lalia tried to untangle those threads in her mind. They’d discussed her having an office that would be where she kept most of her things that weren’t more suited elsewhere—hobby items and whatnot—a space somewhat of her own that she could retreat to when not needed somewhere else. “So it depends,” Lalia said, “on what’s most important to you.” 

“I want your input, too,” said Ezri. “It’s a little minute to solve forever right this second, but since you wrote it down.” 

“We don’t have to—”

Ezri waved her off. “I wanted to know what piqued your interest, minute or not. And I’m happy to address anything you found worthwhile. So, what are your thoughts on sleeping arrangements?” 

“I think... my preference would be in the master bedroom.” 

“Why?”

“I think it… I’d want to be near you. As a… practical, priority… status thing.” She hesitated on the last adjective but Ezri could tell that was most of it.

“A status thing that you get to sleep near me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Even if that means a less comfortable place?” Ezri stood and paced around the table to her.

“Yes.” Softer.

“Maybe _especially_ if?”

“Yes.” Barely audible, looking up at her. “Ma’am.” 

“So what kind of arrangement in the master bedroom?” Ezri cupped her face, ran her thumb over Lalia's cheek.

“I… floor?” Words were not her strongsuit at the moment.

“And when you’re an especially good girl I let you sleep across the foot of my bed?”

“If you like.” Her mouth was dry. 

“Hmm. I _do_ like.” Ezri’s lips were much less dry, pressed against hers, a series of soft, short kisses that left her aching for more. She straightened; she was several inches taller than Lalia even when they were both standing, and this was an odd angle. “What was next on your list?” 

“Oh—ah…” Lalia looked at the paper. By the time she’d processed the words, Ezri had sat again, though she pulled the rolling, cushioned dining chair closer. “Uniforms. You cut the section and said to discuss because your tastes changed.”

“Hmm.” Her hand stroked Lalia’s lap, the skirt. “I still like this on you. Where did you get it?”

“Online?” Not sure why it came out as a question. Thought through what Ezri's own style seemed to be—tonight she wore another cool jewel toned flannel, sapphire, open over a navy tee. Nice jeans again.

“So easily replicable?”

“I’d think so.” 

Ezri’s fingertips moved to Lalia’s throat. “What are your thoughts on collars? The physical side. No metal allergies?”

“No,” she said. She wasn’t thinking much about metal allergies. Ezri’s fingers slipped to her collarbone. “I—did you—want to discuss this, ma’am—or…?” 

Ezri smiled. “Patience,” she told her, lightly chiding. “Something to be said about delayed gratification, don’t you think?”

“I…” 

“Have you orgasmed since I saw you last?” 

“No, ma’am.”

“And why not?”

“… Delayed gratification.”

Ezri laughed at this. 

_Basking. Work._ But mostly, only wanting relief to come with Ezri’s hands on her.

“Will you be spending the night?”

“Will—will I?”

“I think so. If you’re available.” 

Lalia managed to nod. Ezri’s touch withdrew. 

“Collar thoughts? I’d want something enough that I can leash you with but subtle enough to never have to be removed.” 

Lalia nodded. “I like… the permanency factor. You mentioned metal?” 

“You know byzantine chainmail?” 

Lalia nodded. _Yes, I’ve also searched for BDSM on Etsy._

“Maybe something like that… a little too tight to slip over your head, with a lock. Something sturdy, not something you could pull apart. I’d have to look at options with a wide enough loop on the lock for a leash clip.”

“You didn’t mention leashes in the email.” 

Ezri shrugged. “Not something I use too much, but if the collar’s permanent… it would have to work for when I do. Thoughts?” 

She felt suddenly overwhelmed. Wearing Ezri’s collar, forever. She was aware of how it was far too easy to think of that sitting here with her, and exactly why Ezri had recommended a bit of space to read the email and think in. Had it only been days? Was she losing her mind? Or was she just incredulous at the idea of everything she had ever wanted? “I… that… works,” she got out, stupidly. “It’s… anything you want.” 

“Anything I want?” Ezri quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I…” 

Ezri’s lips were close to hers again. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Lalia whispered.

She wasn’t sure exactly who kissed whom, but the passion was equal. Ezri’s hand in her hair, pulling the braids back, the fabric of Ezri’s shirt clutched in her fingers, Ezri’s tongue sliding over hers, the whimper on her lips, Ezri’s other hand at her back, _“Please—”_

Ezri drew back from her, hands sliding to her lap, released a breath that almost came as a laugh as Lalia stopped trying to chase her and settled back as well. She flushed and released Ezri’s shirt. 

“So, collars,” Ezri said. “Uniforms.”

Lalia nodded, dizzy.

“Button downs are nice on you… I enjoyed watching you take off the last one. I might have fun doing it for you.” Running her fingers down the buttons on Lalia’s shirt, and back up. “But I wouldn’t want one that obscures the collar too much… maybe an open shirt collar, or a few buttons undone…” Undoing the first fastened button on her shirt, brushing the skin it revealed.

Lalia closed her eyes.

“I’m not letting you think, am I?”

Lalia shook her head.

Ezri sighed, withdrew her touch. Lalia’s eyes opened, followed Ezri’s hand returning to her lap. 

“Tell you what,” Ezri said gently. “I’m gonna go check on a few things upstairs. You, stay here and breathe and think. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She kissed her cheek and went.

Lalia did breathe. She wasn’t sure she thought much but she breathed, found composure again, paced a little to get out nervous energy. She was clear headed if without any revelations when Ezri returned.

They talked about a few other small points.

Some concerns of Ezri’s. Trying to make sure they didn’t do this rashly—she offered Lalia vetting references, noting that while they weren’t impartial, they might have valuable things to say. Encouraged her to just ask around in the local scene. Lalia was hard pressed on personal references to give back but offered a few professional ones, at least.

She had met a few of Ezri’s friends at Temptation, after their scene, curled up at Ezri’s side while she chatted, not saying much, floaty, but absorbing the atmosphere. They seemed nice. Some loud personalities, but well meaning. They were clearly fond of Ezri, and she was fond of them.

Other things… 

“One bit of miscellany I wanted to cover…” Ezri trailed off.

Lalia looked at her expectantly.

“I’m twenty years older than you. Which isn’t like, old enough to be your mother in a universe where I was still making good choices for myself around that age, but it would be amply biologically possible.”

“It’s amply biologically possible for you to be my mother?”

Ezri clearly missed the slight smirk. “Do you have any qualms about that? I know you said it depends, and you’re here and so I would think that it’s not a problem since it’s not really something we can negotiate, but I don’t want to make it this unspeakable thing—oh.” She looked at Lalia, smacked her arm. “Fuck you. Gender is fake.” 

Lalia laughed. “I have no qualms, ma’am.” 

Ezri sighed. “Very well.” 

“Do you?” 

“I probably should _,_ ” said Ezri. “But no. Since the general concern would be, you know, creating a power imbalance based on age… and that is not… a thing.” 

They talked about thoughts on some of the specifics, down to protocols and positions and—

“I haven’t practiced curtsies before,” Lalia mumbled. “The rest doesn’t look too complicated. I…” 

“You?”

“Tried a few times, after I got the email.” Blushing. Not sure why. They were Ezri’s instructions, after all. And to blame her for executing them badly at this point would be unfair.

“Oh, I want to see that,” Ezri laughed. “Up.”

“I—I really haven’t practiced mu—”

“Lalia.” 

“I really don’t know—”

“Lalia.”

“It still looks really awkward—”

“Lalia. Either tell me no plainly or do as I tell you.”

Lalia froze for a second, then stood slowly. 

“Good girl,” Ezri murmured. “Next time, the first time I tell you, if you’re not going to say no.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. 

“I understand you haven’t practiced much. Show me anyway.” 

Lalia did. It was actually not the worst of her attempts, which she was especially grateful for given her nerves—the truth of what she had said, and the fact she had kept saying it.

“Not the worst first go I’ve seen,” Ezri said dryly. “We’ll work on it. Sit.” 

It was almost midnight when they were finally satisfied with their current discussion. They got ready for bed. “So you did pack to spend the night,” Ezri commented.

Lalia flushed. “Just in case.” 

Ezri laughed, kissed her lightly. “Good to be prepared.” Kissed her again, harder, deeper, her nails leaving pink lines on Lalia’s back, Lalia pressing herself closer to her until Ezri shoved her onto the bed.

Later, Ezri told her she was too pretty for her own good when she came; “I might not be able to maintain that denial kink.” 

“I might be okay with that,” Lalia panted. Relief at Ezri’s hands had felt even better than imagined.

Ezri laughed and tucked a loose strand of hair out of her face. "We'll see, won't we?" 


	4. Biblically

Lalia had officially lost all motivation to go to work. She would be putting in her two weeks' notice at both jobs tomorrow. 

She didn’t even dislike the one she was supposed to go to today. She wasn’t even that tired. She was just very aware it wasn’t going anywhere, a feeling she had never liked. 

She was still in bed, in the process of waking up, when her phone lit up. She pulled it over and looked at it, a little bleary eyed. Ezri. 

_Would you like to come see Jen and Clara around 1 today?_

An hour into a four hour shift. 

Well, she certainly had enough vacation days she hadn’t taken. 

_Yes, ma’am; I’ll be there._

_Excellent._

She put in for the day off. It was the sort of shift where they wouldn’t miss her, even with the short notice. 

She’d met Jen and Clara at Temptation; Ezri had been sitting with them before she'd started talking to Lalia, and after their scene, they'd eventually gone back upstairs, where Ezri'd introduced them. Lalia had been mostly quiet, enjoying the hum of subspace curled up at Ezri's side and listening to the conversation happening around her.

Jen was loud and bubbly, blonde—dark blonde with layers and bangs—slightly heavyset, and dressed in a mix of mostly denim and leather. Clara, the Asian woman donning Jen's collar, a yellow wristband, and mostly black, stark against pale skin,  was  much quieter but had a way of making you forget that when she did speak.

They appeared to be closer to Ezri's age, and Ezri had later confirmed they were part of the same BDSM network she was.

A second text from Ezri now told her to dress as she had last time. 

Lalia had apparently anticipated that, clothes already washed since yesterday morning. 

_Yes, ma’am._

_Good girl._

_Anything I can bring?_

_Something fruit tray-ish._

_Yes, ma’am._

Antsy all morning, she started getting ready far too early, unable to decide if Ezri’s direction had included the hairstyle, didn’t want to bother her with asking, and figured she’d play it safe, and did her hair the same way. Ezri had commented on it positively, after all. 

She left in time to be early, even with agonizing over what _something fruit tray-ish_ she should pick up. The mechanic was still stalling and she kept telling herself it didn’t matter and she took the bus.

She knocked on Ezri’s door and Ezri didn’t open it. Instead it was Jen. Clara stood nearby—they’d recently arrived, apparently. 

“Ooh,” said Jen with interest, shutting the door behind her without taking her eyes off Lalia. “You must be the one Ezri won’t shut up about. I do remember you. Ezri!” she shouted into the other room. “You did good! She’s still pretty, you were right about the eyes—” She turned abruptly back to Lalia. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning, leave _nothing_ out! Is Ezri as good as she brags about?” 

She spoke so fast that Lalia barely knew why she was blushing for a moment after Jen finished speaking. Clara gave a slight eye roll. 

“Oh, so she is!” Jen interpreted the blushing for her. 

“—Will you leave my poor girl alone?” Ezri interrupted, coming back from the kitchen. 

_My_. 

She found her way to Lalia and gave her a quick kiss. “Ignore them, sweetheart. They’re just _nosy_ and make up things that I supposedly said.” 

“‘They're like _cerulean_ ,'" said Clara, giggling.

Ezri swatted at her with the hand not holding a water pitcher, flicked at her hair with a strange familiarity, disrupting long, silky black strands. 

“Hey, I’m not _nosy,_ ” Jen cut in. "I’m _appropriately interested_ in your affairs as a thoughtful, caring friend.” 

Ezri swatted at her too. “Nosy,” she insisted. “And a liar!” she said to Clara. 

Lalia, suppressing a smile, still hadn’t managed to get a word in. Ezri’s eyes ran over her attire. “Good girl,” she murmured. She gave her a kiss on the cheek and took the fruit tray from her. “Living room,” she said to the group, who followed her as she set things on the coffee table, opened the fruit tray, poured water for everyone. Lalia kept meaning to ask if there was something she could do and then didn’t, was lucky she’d managed to remember to set her bag down by the door instead of carrying it awkwardly. 

Ezri sat on one of the couches and Jen and Clara both took the other, surprising Lalia. Unsure, she hovered until Ezri said, “You go here,” and gestured at the floor at her feet. 

Lalia, relieved, knelt next to her, and Ezri ran a hand over her hair. She remembered, from the email—even if Ezri had told her not to worry yet—the position she should be in, once Ezri confirmed her place in this moment. Knees apart, hands palm up on her thighs. 

“Do you not talk?” Jen asked her. Before she could answer, she said to Ezri, “Are you not letting her talk? You know, it’s very rude to invite people to a social event and not let them talk. Or sit on the furniture.” 

“It would be to you, Jenevieve,” said Ezri lightly. “But I daresay her only speech restriction at the moment is you not letting her get a word in. We’ll see about the furniture.” 

Clara snickered at this, echoing, “ _We’ll see about the furniture_ ,” while Jen pouted. 

“Fine,” said Jen, and looked at Lalia. “You. Talk. Go!” And made a gesture of zipping her lips. 

Lalia didn’t know what to say. “… Hi?” she tried, which was apparently funnier than she thought. 

Jen did not succeed in silence. “Bit of a schoolgirl kink, Ezri? I wouldn’t have _thought you the sort_.” 

“Age or attire?” 

“Bit of both. But who chose the outfit?” 

“Bit of both,” said Ezri. 

Jen laughed. 

Later, Ezri wanted to show Jen something that was upstairs, nudged Lalia and said, “You two should talk,” nodding at Clara, as her and Jen left. 

Clara had been one of the references Ezri gave her, which Lalia had not contacted yet. Partially, because she wasn’t really sure what to ask. 

She felt a bit awkward on the floor with just Clara now. But she should ask something. “How do you know…” she doubted even her forms of address “… Ms. Ezri?” 

“Biblically,” said Clara flatly, with the level of interest one might say _oh, through work._ She did raise an eyebrow at Lalia though, with a slight smirk. 

Lalia was aware that the lack of explanation was making her nervous and that Clara was probably screwing with her on purpose. “Biblically,” she echoed. 

“Years ago. Almost six, now. She tried to do entry training for a bit, didn’t take at the time. I was new and ended up here. She just kind of kept… not selling me, even when the others were gone.” 

“And what happened?” 

Clara shrugged, brushed at her bangs that almost fell in her eyes—brown, pretty—Lalia got how she'd appealed to Ezri, even with the _cerulean_ comment she was still processing.  “We talked about it. She wanted me to stay, or try. I wanted to stay too, mostly. But she was too used to being my trainer. Did the whole... reverse favoritism, being the favorite trainee gets you beaten over the little stuff more, made the others' problems my problem, that whole thing."

“So how did it end?” 

“I mean, it was fine. Once I got her to admit she kept not selling me for a valid reason, we signed a consideration contract for like, a few months. We got to the end of it. Which is usually, y’know, a good sign you’ll sign the Ownership one. Then we kind of looked at each other and said no. It wasn’t... bad. It just wasn’t… what either of us really wanted. So we both ended it. And then she did what she’d meant to do at the start and looked for someone to take me. I think Jen and I got married a week later." 

Lalia laughed. 

“She’s a good matchmaker. Mostly because she tries. A lot of trainers don’t.” 

“So what…” She was going to ask _what is your deal with Jen_ but realized she was getting away from her more pressing questions. Surely, she’d figure that out with time. Ezri could answer that. Jen could answer that. She was also curious about _most trainers don’t_ and some similar opinions Ezri had expressed. But she had Clara’s attention, alone, right now. “Did Ms. Ezri want you to help her train anyone else?” 

“Not at the time,” said Clara. “Officially. She had me do some of the management she didn't want to deal with, just because she knew I could and would.  But she's wanted the actual majordomo thing for a while now. She knew that entry training wasn’t something she wanted to do again then, but it took her a while to figure out why. So she went back to her higher level stuff. Then realized she’d really rather be doing the entry stuff, if she had someone to help.” 

“What about… the rest of it? Wanting… just someone of her own?” 

“Well, she’s always wanted that. That’s what I was supposed to be. A few others who never really went anywhere. She’s not that one miserable single person or anything, even when it was... y'know, we... broke up and then it was her, and me and Jen, and getting used to that. She didn't know Jen that well at the time. But she's obviously been wanting... someone of her own.” 

_Does she want me?_

Lalia didn’t realize she had actually said the words aloud, not in her head, until Clara laughed. Mindfulness forgotten in curiosity, apparently. 

“Oh, she doesn’t want you—she _has_ you,” said Clara. “Everything I looked at and said ‘not really for me’, that she wanted—the kneeling and the titles and the uniforms and everything—forget the majordomo stuff—that’s clearly what you want.” 

“Do you think it’s bad? To want that?” Clara hadn’t really implied it was, but she was curious… why Clara didn’t want it, couldn’t adapt to it, which she hadn't gone into. 

“No,” said Clara, but looked thoughtful. “I mean—but it gets a lot of people into a lot of trouble. Anyone can write a protocol list, y’know? So if that’s the only criteria someone has—they get into problems. But Ezri’s been freaking out about being some cradle robbing rapist predator psychopath or whatever since she met you, no matter how many times over you consent, so I think she has your best interests in mind.” 

“Has she?” 

“It’s just the way she is. It’s not you.” Clara had read her concerns. “You’re in the scene long enough, you get some ideas about consent beaten into you—literally or figuratively. And she doesn’t wanna fuck things up with you. She’s been waxing poetic for a week. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” 

_Has it really only been a week?_

It had. 

“Any other advice?” 

“Don’t piss her off,” said Clara easily. 

Lalia laughed. Wasn’t quite sure if she was supposed to, but was reassured by Clara’s grin. 

Jen and Ezri returned. 

It was a good afternoon; Jen and Clara stayed for another two hours before leaving to run some errands and get ready for some event they were going to later. 

Ezri and Lalia talked about how logistics were going—Lalia was going to be breaking her lease, invoking fines. The jobs both required two weeks' notice, so she was using that time mostly for packing, with taking what remained of her vacation days. She’d decided to give up on her car and sell it for whatever pitiful amount it was worth, and use Ezri’s when needed. Storage for anything was deemed unnecessary. They’d talked about the household items she didn’t really need to bring unless she wanted to, since it would create duplicates, similar to clothes—given that more of what was now her uniform had been ordered, Ezri informed her—and set a day almost three weeks out to actually move. Which felt painfully far away, and yet was still at a point when they would have known each other for about a month. 

Whatever money Lalia had would be going towards those costs, Ezri covering the rest, then in future paying for her insurance and medical, transportation costs, household necessities, food, clothes, and other basics, and planned to give her a reasonable allowance for any leisure items or activities or whatnot. She was currently living below her means enough to adopt those costs without adopting an income of Lalia’s. 

The conversation was both very boring and very exciting. Planning for the future— _their_ future. And yet, in words like insurance and groceries and taxes. 

Even when they ended up in the dungeon, it wasn’t much more exciting in certain ways. It was just where the BDSM books were stored, “ _So everything questionable is in one room to lock when I have that one vanilla person a year over,”_ Ezri had said—and she had meant to find a few items she’d mentioned wanting Lalia to read, once she’d gotten a sense of what she already had. 

She selected the two books she’d mentioned off a shelf, handed them to Lalia—then said, “Oh, you might like this,” and pulled out a binder. She explained it was a collection of newsletters that a local s-type group had been putting out monthly for a while, a variety of authors. “Very practical,” she said. “Two main editors. Asher's sweet; you'd like him. I still see the other one around now and then; I think they're on the TNG board now. With you, I could even go.” 

“Sounds good,” said Lalia, laughing, adding it to the pile. She hadn’t been to a local TNG event yet but had joined their group on FetLife and RSVP’d to a munch at a restaurant about two and a half weeks away as a _maybe_. She’d made it to two other munches at restaurants or coffee places and the first was where she’d heard about Temptation beyond the venue’s vague website. 

Ezri said, “Speaking of seeing people around. The party Jen and Clara are going to—we’re also invited, if you want to go.” 

“What?” 

“It’s a play party. Master Charlie is hosting at his place, southwest part of town. Funny, Asher'll be there, too. We’d leave in about two hours. Normally you’d need to be vetted, but you’d be fine as my plus one and I mentioned I might bring you if I go. No pressure to play. I could take you home after or back here if you want to stay. Or we could stay here.” 

That was a lot of information that also didn’t tell her terribly much. “I—yeah, that would be fun,” she said. “To go, I mean.” 

She had a shift that started at ten tomorrow, but it didn’t sound like they’d be up all night. And it did sound like fun. 

“I’ll tell Charlie we’ll be there,” said Ezri, sending a quick text and then looking up and saying, “Are you hungry? I don’t think they’re putting out more than snacks there.” 

“I could eat,” she said, realizing she’d been slightly hungry for a while now. 

“Me, too,” said Ezri. “Tell me more about this cheesy garlic pasta you make.” 

Lalia laughed. She’d mentioned it offhand as an example of a food she made frequently that _wasn’t_ that impressive, trying to counter a compliment of Ezri’s on the fact she cooked rather than ordered or microwaved food. “Do you have some normal kind of pasta, garlic, parmesan, butter, and oil?” 

“What, you want a pot and spoon too?” 

Lalia laughed again. “Salt, maybe. Knife, cutting board, forks, bowls. Unless we wanna go all _Lady and the Tramp_ on this.” 

“That might be nice.” Ezri’s arm sliding around her waist. 

Lalia made a face. “I’m sure you have two bowls.” 

“And the option of not giving you a fork.” 

“I just realized I don’t have a _Lady and the Tramp_ kink.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I’m not a little.” 

Ezri laughed. “But will you see the remake?” 

“No, God, why are they making that.” 

“I have _no_ idea. I won't see it either.” Ezri gave her a light kiss, a swat on her ass, and said, “Now be a good girl and go make me dinner.” 

“May I also make _me_ dinner?” 

“If you stop kinkshaming _Lady and the Tramp_ like I won’t tie your hands behind your back while you eat.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Lalia smiled, and Ezri smiled back at her, and Lalia went to figure out the kitchen, stopping only to set the books by her bag. 

The kitchen was not actually anything crazy. Spacious, but organized, and not overrun by fancy appliances. She found the minimal tools and ingredients she’d listed easily, at least. 

Ezri arrived in the kitchen while Lalia was roasting the garlic. She’d changed to get ready for the party, probably among whatever else she was up to, and Lalia tried to not take that in, in the name of not burning the garlic. “Where would you like to eat?” she asked, over the bubbling oil and butter. 

“Dining room,” said Ezri. “You may eat at the table.” 

Lalia, not sure what else to say, said, “Thank you, ma’am,” which made Ezri laugh. She finished the pasta off within a few minutes, managed to bring two cloth napkins, two forks, and both bowls to the table and lay them out. 

“Did you know forks go on the left, or did you get lucky?” 

“I knew.” 

“Good girl.” Ezri kissed her cheek. 

“You might want more parmesan; I can bring that. Anything to drink?” 

“Water.” 

Lalia brought the parmesan and a glass of water for both of them. Ezri sat at the head of the table. “You may sit.” 

Lalia sat next to her. They ate. “Am I dressed for a party?” Lalia asked after a few moments of silence. 

“I think so,” said Ezri, eyes running over her. 

Deciding not to push her luck on being self deprecating, she settled on nodding. Ezri had changed into boots, jeans, and a button down, all black. 

“You may take the braids out after dinner,” said Ezri. “They're a little informal, I guess.” Upon further thought, she said, “Put it in some kind of updo.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Also, you make a good pasta."

“Thank you, ma’am.” She suppressed a smile. 

After eating, she cleaned up dinner as best she knew how in the somewhat unfamiliar house, and did what Ezri suggested with her hair. Like while cooking, she felt strange, being alone in a room here. Ezri had retreated to her office, said to find her when she was done, bring something to read. Lalia did. Ezri gestured for her to come in and kneel next to her, focused on something on a laptop set on the desk. Said, “You can start on that book while I get a few things organized.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

They didn’t talk after that. Lalia read, and it was good, and it felt nice to kneel nearby Ezri in silence while they were both in their own worlds. At one point Ezri sighed, and said, “It’s almost time to go. Will you be coming back here?” 

Lalia looked up from her book. “If you like.” 

“Then only bring what you need for the party. I just sent you the general rules list, mostly no intoxicants, no photography, all that. It’s a general medium protocol event, and they’re not pedantic. I think your intuitive behavior will be mostly fine. You should meet me at the garage door with whatever you’re bringing, one length of black ribbon you will find in the second from bottom right side drawer in the dresser in the dungeon, and three impact implements you might like me to use on you, if we decide to play. You can read the message in the car.” 

_Oh?_ “Yes, ma’am.” She jumped up, took her book with her, and found first the ribbon, in a drawer that had sections that contained many lengths of ribbon, all about the same, sorted by the few colors, and a few other items on the side. Then, eyeing the rack of impact implements, trying to not think about the implications of her choices too hard, noticing some objects already missing, selected three. She returned to the first floor, placed the book into her bag with the first item she found to use as a bookmark. She met Ezri by the garage door. 

Ezri had what looked more like a toy bag, lightly packed, and tucked the implements Lalia had selected into it without comment. Ribbon in hand, she ordered, “Kneel,” and Lalia did, confused for a moment. 

Ezri tied the ribbon around her neck, a small bow about as tight as a collar. “For tonight,” she said softly, “it will do. Assuming you’ll be mine for the night?” 

“Of course,” Lalia breathed. 

“I was probably supposed to ask that before I put it on you.” 

“Probably.” 

They laughed. 

“Now you’re dressed for a party. Up.” Lalia hopped to her feet and they went in the garage; she got in the passenger seat beside Ezri and they pulled out, drove. Lalia checked her phone for Ezri’s message and skimmed it. She sucked in a breath at the list of protocols and thought, _Do I really do all of these intuitively? Consistently?_

Ezri could sense her anxiety. “You’ll be fine,” she said gently, squeezing Lalia’s hand at a red light. 

The ribbons were explained by another section—black for training or under consideration or both,  red for available to be claimed for the night (a black ribbon added if claimed), white for serving the house, gray for majordomos. All on top of actual collars for the owned.

_Maybe gray in the future, then. Or white, if loaned._

They parked in front of a nice looking house with twinkling string lights illuminating the shorter front path to the door. Ezri reached for her before she got out of the car, her hand tight in Lalia’s hair. “No worrying,” she said firmly, and kissed her. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 


	5. First Party

They got out; Lalia took the bag at Ezri’s direction and followed her to the front door. Ezri had commented _you heel perfectly_ before, and she tried to not over focus and screw it up now. 

Ezri let herself in, which was reassuring; she was comfortable here. “Ding dong,” she announced, and gestured for Lalia to set the bag near the door, among others. 

“Who is it!” someone shouted jokingly around a corner. 

To their immediate right, stairs, to their left, a wall, doors that could have been closets or bathrooms, so Ezri led the way forward. It opened up with the kitchen to the left, a few people getting drinks, snacks. A sliding glass door in the back showed a few people smoking cigars in the yard, near a well lit pool and hot tub. “It’s me,” said Ezri, addressing mostly the living room on the right. 

“Why, Ezria, it’s been forever~!” said Jen with deep sarcasm from the couch. Clara was nearby her on the floor, looking somewhat casual leaning on Jen’s legs, but Lalia remembered her earlier words, and the party rules. 

“It really has—we _must_ catch up, dahling~” said Ezri in the same tone. 

Jen blew a kiss back and a few people laughed. 

“And?” asked an older, goateed man in leathers sitting near Jen, looking at Lalia. 

Jen swatted his arm. “I told you Ezri was bringing her new… prospect.” 

Ezri said, “So did I. This is Lalia. My… new prospect, apparently.” 

The man barked a laugh, stood, stepping around the girl by his feet. “May I?” he asked Ezri. 

“Certainly.” 

He pulled Lalia into what might have been a hug and might have been a handshake of the sort she had exclusively seen pulled off by men, but she tried to reciprocate. “Charlie,” he said, his voice a friendly rasp. 

Having already been introduced, she said, “Nice to meet you, sir,” softly, with a slight bow of her head. 

Charlie asked Ezri, “Did she sign a rules sheet?” 

“No—were they back by the door? She read one in the car.” 

He laughed, and eyed Lalia. “Promising, promising. By the door, yeah.” 

“Come on,” Ezri said to her, and led her back to the door, gestured to a stack of papers and a cup of pens. “Just to agree you’ll try to follow them while you’re here,” she said. Lalia picked up a pen and took one of the stapled packets, skimmed to find it was exactly what she’d read in the car, and signed it. Set it on top of a small stack of signed copies nearby, replaced the pen. “Quick tour?” 

“Please, ma’am,” said Lalia. 

A bronze skinned girl who could've only been a few years older than Lalia came bounding down the stairs, paused, gave them a quick nod and smile, and hurried off. 

Ezri gave a slight eye roll. “Naomi’s a handful,” she said. “Paige was the one of Charlie’s you saw earlier.” She led the way upstairs. Up there was a bedroom with a bed made in white sheets that was open for use, lube packets and condoms and such set on a night table. A loft area was designated as a little and pet space, equipped with coloring pages and tools, a large blanket fort, bottles of bubbles, cookies shaped like dog biscuits. First aid station, with a posted shift schedule for DMs. The rest of the upstairs was darkness and closed doors. 

Downstairs, the only thing really left to show her was the converted garage, which had been turned into a play space or dungeon. A massage table, spanking bench, St. Andrew’s cross. Ezri pointed out a seemingly open area that contained hard points for rope and other suspensions. 

“Remind me—you’ve never been suspended, right?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Set on fire?” 

“Figuratively, ma'am?” 

“No.” 

“Then no, ma’am.” 

“Knife play?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“Hot wax? Ice?” 

“Kind of, and yes, ma'am.” 

“Electric you said yes, right?” 

“Shockingly, yes, ma'am.” 

“ _Shockingly_?” 

Lalia groaned. 

“You walked right into that one.” Ezri smiled, and led her back inside. 

Before they were really in anyone’s earshot, Lalia murmured, “Are you sure I’m dressed for a party, ma'am?” She knew Ezri had told her not to worry, but getting a feel for the environment, she felt… out of place, and it wasn’t really about the clothes. 

“Perfectly.” Softer, slowing to still be out of earshot, she said, “Remember to speak when spoken to.” 

_Right._ “Sorry, ma’am,” she whispered. 

Ezri reached back and squeezed her hand. Then moved them swiftly back towards the living room. 

There, Jen, Clara, Charlie, the girl at his feet—a name tag Lalia caught now said Paige—and a middle aged, dark skinned man in leathers in one of the arm chairs, with a younger man, also dark skinned and in leathers, at his feet—were deep in conversation, the people on the furniture, at least. Ezri took the other arm chair and Lalia knelt at her side. She noticed the kneeling man's name tag said _Asher,_ the s-type group leader Ezri had mentioned.

On the couch, Jen wore a red tank top and black jeans, boots and high waisted jacket both in black leather. Clara, nearby Lalia on the floor and offering her a small nod of greeting, wore an asymmetrical black dress with lace around the edges.

Lalia listened to the banter with interest—she knew only some of the names, groups, places, but the more they were mentioned, the easier it was to keep track. People wandered in and out from the yard and kitchen and front door and Lalia was introduced to a few of them. Some went upstairs, apparently mostly to that little and pet space. Lalia wondered how the protocols worked there and made a note to ask Ezri later, remembering not to ask questions this time. 

Finally Jen said, “Well, if no one else is gonna get the party started, I’m gonna go set Clara on fire.” 

Lalia thought of Ezri’s question to her and was immensely curious. She had little understanding of how fire play worked; it somewhat terrified her, though she’d heard it wasn’t usually as intense as it sounded. Not the idea of a fire scene so much as all of the things that could go wrong. She’d never really seen it done, just some eye catching images on FetLife. 

Ezri nudged her as she stood and said, “Good idea. We’ll come watch you do that.” 

Lalia hopped up and followed her. Maybe that curiosity would be satisfied. She made another mental note for later—why Jen and Clara came to these parties, when there were other play parties available without the protocols they seemed to normally dismiss. Most play parties she’d seen posted didn’t have protocols listed, in fact. Just the standard rules—only smoke outside, clothes on in the yard because of neighbors, no photography, no intoxicants, don’t touch without consent. Maybe something like the ribbons here or the wristbands of Temptation.

Jen went to fetch something by the front door, probably a play bag. Ezri, meanwhile, led Lalia upstairs to the room with the bed in it, confusing her for a moment. Shut the door behind them and said, “I just wanted to give you a chance to say things. I know it’s a lot to take in. So, speak freely.” 

Every question she had suddenly vanished from her mind. Ezri laughed softly, watching her apparently visibly freeze, and kissed her softly like it would coax words out of her. Oddly, it worked.

“I… didn’t have anything urgent,” she said honestly.

“Then what do you have that’s not urgent?” 

“So…” she was trying to keep track of people “… Master Charlie’s the host. His slaves are Paige and Naomi.”

“Yes. Paige and Naomi also live here and are technically hosting. They… do the usual sister slave quasiromantic thing.” 

“And Naomi’s the handful.” 

Ezri laughed. “They’re both a lot of fun when they’re allowed to speak. Naomi’s… louder. Not ill behaved, per se.” 

Lalia supposed she’d have to meet them under slightly different circumstances to get a good picture, but she somewhat knew what Ezri meant. “Like Clara?” 

“No,” said Ezri slowly, thinking. “Clara… can seem pretty mild but isn’t interested in much protocol. Naomi likes a lot of protocol and manages to have a loud personality around it. There’s no strict rule that says you can’t run down the stairs.” 

That made sense. Clara had been much quieter than Jen or Ezri this afternoon, too, and seemed to float between rooms, but had been sitting on the couch. Naomi had been kneeling still in the living room for a while, but the only time Lalia had seen her move, it was bounding down the stairs. When she had been allowed to speak, she had used _sir_ and all as required, but spoke fast, loud, and confident. She’d have to think about that. “All right,” she said. “Why… why do Jen and Clara come to these? If they’re not… interested in that.” 

Ezri shrugged. “A compromise. They like the crowd here better and say they throw the best parties and have the best venues. And this is an exclusively in network thing, and they like not having to filter that. Slight downside—for them—a few extra rules.”

“It seems like more than a few compared to their usual," said Lalia.

“I guess. They have a more overt dynamic sometimes, but more of an—intuitive thing, than written out. It's always there if you look. And the fire scene you're about to see is the very least of their play." 

"Hmm." 

"I’ve questioned it, too. To be fair, they also drag me to Temptation.” She smiled. “I think there it’s the opposite—they like to show off to the vanilla ‘tourists’, on the play side."

"Okay. So, the others who stayed in the living room... Asher, with the newsletter?" 

Ezri nodded.

"And...?" 

"His Master, Dennis." 

"Right. I... had one weird question about the little and pet thing but it can really wait.”

“Go ahead.” 

“How… how do you keep the protocols there?”

Ezri laughed. “I have no idea. I think as long as it’s s-types interacting with each other up there, there aren’t too many rules. If someone’s Owner comes by, I guess it’s a case by case depending on what their usual deal is.” 

“That makes sense.” 

Ezri smiled. “Nothing else?”

Lalia shook her head.

Ezri put an arm around her waist and squeezed briefly. “Let’s go watch Jen and Clara show off, then.” 

They found their way back to the garage, where not much had happened, which seemed to be due to Jen misplacing something. Clara was undressed except for the collar, hair now put up. Ezri sat on a couch off to the side and Lalia knelt next to her. She wasn’t quite used to this environment; she hadn’t been to a play party—going to Temptation came closest, and there the play was still frequently rather private. But Clara seemed comfortable, nonchalant, and was admittedly pretty.

Ezri absently played with Lalia’s hair while Jen and Clara got set up—Clara, on top of a wool blanket, lay face down on the massage table. Jen left and returned, taking a small towel with her, damp when she got back, and laid it over Clara’s head. 

The first part of the scene looked almost like a massage, with oils; Ezri murmured something to her about fire play drying the skin out and that making it more prone to burn, this a popular precaution turned scene start.

By the time the fire actually came out, Dennis and Asher had come to join, too. Ezri and Dennis talked quietly.

Jen had what looked like a marshmallow on a stick; Lalia knew it wasn’t a marshmallow but couldn’t identify what the fabricy material actually was. Jen dipped it in alcohol, and lit it. It glowed dramatically like a torch in the slightly darkened space. She ran it over Clara’s back quickly without quite touching her, a few times. Tapped it very lightly and quickly against her skin, a series of them from her shoulders to her knees, Jen’s palm running right behind it, different patterns. Technically, Clara didn’t seem to be _on fire_. But it was very exciting to watch, at least for a bit. Now and then Jen blew out the torch and either simply re-lit it and began again or rubbed more oils into Clara’s skin and then did the same. Once Lalia caught the reflection of the fire in Jen's eyes once, the orange reflecting off brown, she couldn't stop noticing it.

Clara, to be fair, didn’t seem to be in pain. Wriggled now and then or sighed pleasantly. It mostly looked relaxing, warm. Watching almost made Lalia feel sleepy, the relative hush and the nightlight of the fire, and she began to mentally focus on Ezri’s conversation more, though it wasn’t about much of terrible interest—a new restaurant Dennis had tried, so on. 

Jen and Clara wrapped up after not that long, and as they did, someone started a much louder impact scene on the spanking bench. Clara opted to not put clothes back on, her skin shiny with the oils but not showing any signs of irritation. She curled up close to Jen on the floor, who sat next to Ezri on the couch. 

To hear any of the three tell it, the fire scene _was_ the extremely mild end of what Jen and Clara did. Ezri's comment, but also some remarks that afternoon, or that first night at Temptation. Not showing off in that way, then—but the fire was eye catching.

Ezri spoke to Lalia softly, asking if she’d like to play soon, with the impact implements brought. Lalia’s stomach turned over at the idea of doing so in front of all these people—but it was as thrilling as it was daunting. She nodded. They settled, in quiet conversation, on using the St. Andrew’s Cross and focusing waist up this time, which, at least, meant slightly less undressing.

Ezri went back to the other conversations briefly as the impact scene wrapped up; someone was setting up for a suspension scene, and Ezri, before they got started, asked if they minded her doing an impact scene in another part of the room, to which they said not at all, and she started setting up with Lalia.

Lalia realized her legs were a little numb from kneeling and Ezri encouraged her to pace a little to get the blood flowing again, said she might want to have some water before they started, and Lalia did. Her hands were trembling a little and she was glad when Ezri asked, “Ready?” and at her nod, started unbuttoning her shirt for her.

Jen gave a slightly sarcastic whistle and Ezri gave her an eye roll. But her attention was mostly on Lalia, slipping the shirt from her shoulders, her bra, setting them aside, fastening her wrists and ankles to the cross, murmuring to her that she should say something quickly if those grew numb or painful.

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, aware of the people watching them, or, more interestingly yet, barely paying attention. The suspension scene was flashier at this point and she understood it, but it was strange, if a relief, to be in a state of undress and bound in front of people and have that not even be the most interesting thing in the room. The pudgy young man being suspended was completely nude.

Ezri started slow. Slower than she really had to, being cautious, but Lalia was grateful for it. Light, paced out strikes with the most harmless of floggers. Even those started to sting, but at least they warmed up her skin, which had gotten rather cool when exposed to the air. There wasn’t much to see from her position, so she listened to the ambient chatter, the whip on her back, and just let herself feel it.

Ezri brushed a different flogger on her skin; this one had paracord tails dipped in rubber at the end, the first of the implements Lalia had selected. It wasn’t quite what she was expecting as it hit her harder. Enough to get a gasp from the sting of it. It had a surprisingly forceful impact—sheer number of tails, maybe—but the ends stung lightly even when Ezri swung it to barely touch her, maybe especially when. She needed to catch her breath a little when it withdrew, aware she’d released a few small whimpers. “How are you?” Ezri’s voice was close to her ear.

Lalia nodded, wasn’t sure what that meant, said, “Good. Ma’am.” 

“More?”

“Please. Ma’am.”

Why titles escaped her now, she wasn’t sure.

But the next thing to brush her skin was the end of a dragon tail whip. She bit her lip. She’d felt much braver curiously looking over Ezri’s toy rack at the curled purple leather. But it wasn’t so bad when it started to come a bit harder, just a bit, and a bit more—it stung; there was no big force behind it. It was probably the easiest thing for Ezri to swing yet. It had a sharp bite on a very small area that made her jump and gasp every time, give small cries at the hardest of them. She was conscious of the audience and trying to not overreact. It felt like a small burn, or maybe like a paper cut. Sudden, sharp, and concentrated. Some of her gasps felt like they might become sobs, but didn’t quite get there, tears springing to her eyes but not falling.

Ezri stopped, ran a cool hand over Lalia’s burning skin, soothing for the touch and the affection both. “Number?” came her voice at Lalia’s ear.

It took her a moment to process it. “Six,” she mumbled; “maybe seven.” The ambient sounds seemed farther away; she clenched and unclenched her fingers and toes and found no lack of circulation yet. She’d just remembered the title when Ezri simply said:

“Where do you want to be?” 

She didn’t like the idea of breaking down here. Which was where eight and a half or nine had gotten her last time. But she didn’t want to stop too soon, either; she did want more. If they were alone, she might have said ten. “Eight, ma’am. Please.” 

Ezri kissed the side of her face and stepped back. The next whip did not caress her first, but came softly, something she hadn’t expected was possible, either, given the choice. A single tail that barely gave Ezri ample room to use it. It felt a lot like the dragon tail, though the sound was a bit louder—not really cracking, but still a distinct pop when the cracker hit her skin. She would call the pain _slicing_ but she was fairly certain it wouldn’t make her bleed. Another strike, harder. Or would it? She writhed and squirmed, though the restraints didn’t let her go far and it hurt to tug at them too much, so she didn’t. Her gasps came more constant and deeper even as she tried to breathe; she would lose the breath at the next lash, tears slipping down her cheeks. She cried out louder than she meant to at the latest. They came a little softer, just a few of them, and then Ezri was at her side again. “Number?”

She wasn’t going to last much longer. She wasn’t unwilling to take any more, but… “Basically eight, ma’am."

“Cooldown?” 

“Please, ma’am.” 

The first flogger returned, the softer leather that hurt on her skin but more as if it agitated old marks than that it hurt in itself. It was much quieter, much less concentrated, much less intense. Gentle blows, with little sting in them, fading to nothing. Ezri’s hand was steadying at her lower back, the area least affected by the whips. Releasing the restraints—maybe she was a little tingly after all—and getting her tissues, water, her clothes, doing some cleanup. Her shirt stung a little sitting on her back. But overall, the sensations were fading quickly.

Ezri asked her if she wanted to get anything to eat; Lalia shook her head, a little nauseated. Not many people were watching them, objectively, but some had noticed her tears and she didn’t like it. “May I go to the bathroom, ma’am?” she asked instead.

“Certainly.” 

Lalia fled the room quickly, locked the bathroom door behind her and tried to get a grip, figure out why she felt so shaky and panicked. It was just a lot to take in. The party, the new people, the new environment, the idea of a whole new future—and the scene, the pain, the tears, the vulnerability, had probably unlocked some of that stress.

She breathed, ran some cool water over her face, took her shirt back off and examined the marks, twisting around near the mirror. Most of the area was red, with distinct weals from the single tail, smaller with each of the lines of the cracker, and the dragon tail, thicker and more singular. No blood. Honestly, she’d looked worse—or better—after their first scene, with the thuddier implements that bruised. She put the shirt back on.

Maybe she would feel better next to Ezri, a bit of touch; maybe she should eat—they’d had dinner, but… 

Okay. She could do this. 

She went back out of the bathroom and ran into Charlie. She yelped in surprise. “Sorry, sorry,” she said frantically before she could stop herself, not sure if silence was actually the thing to maintain, holding out her hands as if it was going to steady him, a man big enough to probably barely notice her running into him. She snapped her hands behind her back again, head lowered. “Sir.” 

Charlie gave an ambivalent laugh. “You’re fine. Having fun?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. You two joining us by the pool tonight?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she said honestly.

“—‘Scuse me,” Dennis said, now wearing a DM badge, nudging past them to the bathroom. They side stepped out of his way.

“I won’t keep you,” Charlie told her. “I don’t think Ezri’d like it.” With that, he rummaged around in the closet he’d been looking for, and Lalia turned and left, cursing herself for screwing up the first thing she’d done after leaving the bathroom. 

She hadn’t gone far when Ezri found her, looking concerned, rubbing her arm. “You were gone a while,” she murmured. “I was just checking on you.” 

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said. Charlie poked his head back out of the closet behind her and said: 

“Ah, I was holding her up. Harassing her about the pool.” 

“You know I don’t swim,” Ezri said lightly. 

“Don’t have to. Just come sit with us.” 

“Not big on the smoke, either.” 

“Well, aren’t you the life of the party.” 

“You know me,” said Ezri. 

Charlie laughed, and squeezed past them back to wherever he was going.

“What’s wrong?” Ezri asked her. 

Lalia ran over the conversation trying to figure out where she’d said anything was wrong. “Nothing, ma’am." 

“Hmm.” Ezri didn’t believe her. Dennis exited the bathroom and nodded at them as he slipped past. Ezri pulled Lalia into said bathroom again, shut the door and said, “You may speak freely. In fact, that’s an order. What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll be fine. We don’t… I don’t need to talk about it. It’s just—a… it’s fine.” 

“Lalia.” There was sternness creeping into her voice with the concern, but her touch was gentle, embracing her, and Lalia burst into tears.

Ezri sighed, murmured, “Shh, it’s all right, sweetheart. You’re all right. I’ve got you. Shh.” She ran a thumb over the back of Lalia’s head, her face buried in her shoulder, her other hand over Lalia’s back where the lashes had fallen the least.

It felt nice, even as she whimpered apologies, to release some of the week’s anxieties, to let Ezri hold her and reassure her, safe. Ezri made shushing noises and Lalia finally quieted, drawing back from her. Ezri fetched her more tissues, and Lalia tried to clean herself up quickly, realizing this probably wasn’t very attractive. Whispered, “Thank you,” disposing of the tissues, running more water over her face.

“Would you like to tell me what’s wrong now?” 

“I still don’t really know.” It came out as a laugh. “It’s just—a lot to take in.” 

“What is?”

“All of it. All of it.” She wasn’t making any sense. Ezri probably thought she was nuts.

“Being with me. The network. New people, new places, new sensations.”

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“You’re overwhelmed. That’s understandable.” She frowned, grasping Lalia’s hand. 

“It’s not bad,” said Lalia quickly. “I mean—I know, I know this looks bad. But it’s not… it’s not that I’m unhappy. I just worry. Too much. About everything. It’s not your fault. You—you’ve been great, and really nice to me, and everyone’s been really nice, and I want—I want to be here. I want to be with you. I want this. I… it’s like, I like being beaten, but it still makes me cry because it’s… overwhelming.” 

Ezri nodded slowly. “Okay. I just want… if you have concerns… I don’t want you to bury them.” 

“I’m not. We’ve talked—we’ve talked a lot about all of them. And… you might need to repeat some of it, but it’s not… it’s not like I… feel… like we haven’t addressed them. It’s not logical. It’s not like I have a question you can answer. It’s just… I need… like, Clara said you’ve been asking if you’re being too predatory for a week.”

Ezri laughed.

“And you’re not. And you have to know you’re not. And you asked your friends and they said no, and you asked me and I said no, but you still kind of want to hear it again. I just want to hear… that you want this, and that I’m not screwing everything up, like a dozen more times until maybe I’ll finally get it.” 

“I understand.” She squeezed her hand. “And for the record, yes: I want this. I want you. You haven’t screwed up anything.” 

“Why?” It came out softer than she meant it to.

“Because, you’re kind and sweet and smart and thoughtful, and you think about things deeply and care deeply, and make me laugh and make me feel like everything I want isn’t that insane, and I’m still thinking about that pasta you made and I want to kiss you even when you’re getting snot all over me.” 

Lalia laughed, flushing. “I’ll make you more pasta to make up for your shirt.” 

“Deal.” Ezri smiled, and then did kiss her, soft and sweet and gentle. “I might be a little in love with you,” she said quietly as they pulled apart for breath.

“I might feel the same way,” said Lalia. “I know it hasn’t been long, but it’s been…” 

“A hell of a week.” 

“That.” 

They both laughed.

“Not exactly doing the three collar stages, are we?”

“No,” said Ezri. “That sounds like a lot of years and I’m getting impatient for weeks.” 

“Me, too.” 

“Well, sweetheart, I think you’re pretty presentable about now, if you want to go join the fun. Or we can stay here. Or go home.” 

_Home._ Ezri caught the word too, as she said it, but seeing Lalia’s small smile, didn’t take it back. 

“Whatever you like, ma’am.”

“Hmm. I could get used to the sound of that.”

“I’m sure you will.” 

Ezri smiled. “Let’s go.” 


	6. All Yours

Lalia was exhausted.

Considering she was a relative minimalist living in a studio apartment who didn’t need to bring most basics with her, moving was still somehow draining.

But it was done.

And now it was odd, standing here with Ezri in the kitchen, their kitchen—not visiting, not worrying about getting to work tomorrow, not a guest. The day they’d waited for, done. A very quiet moment in the hubbub. 

It was then that Ezri set the consideration contract down in front of her, with a pen. “If you would.” 

They’d basically drafted it together—if the contents were up to Ezri, she had still wanted to hear Lalia’s thoughts, and turning the rambling email, conversations, texts, and more into a structured document had mostly been Lalia’s job.

Still, Lalia flipped through it now page by page as if she hadn’t seen it. She’d read it again and again, but wasn’t one to sign things without reading them, even if it was one more last minute skim.

Then she picked up the pen and signed her name, the date, on both copies—one for her, and one for Ezri. Ezri did the same.

A lot of the consideration contract was the very day to day, nitty gritty details. Parts of it she would still need to be taught how to follow—like chore guidelines best taught in practice. Ezri had assured her that she did not punish for accidents, at least neglect, and generally _intention,_ and understood she had a lot to get used to, to learn, to practice. A contract was a tool of communication, not meant to be written in stone, but to be a current understanding, especially a consideration one. 

Right now, Ezri pressed a kiss to her neck, arms around her waist from behind her. “Mine.” 

Lalia smiled. “All yours, ma’am.” She relaxed into Ezri’s grip, head tilted back onto her shoulder, arms resting over hers. Secure, warm, loved, safe.

They settled in the living room for most of the rest of the evening. Ezri sat on the couch sorting papers on the coffee table. She’d made a research project of asking others in network for their relationship contracts, currently compiling printed versions into a binder. Stapling, hole punching, sorting into sections, indexing, tagging, making tables of contents, dating, adding notes. Lalia knelt, then with permission sat, on the floor nearby, reading. She’d read Ezri’s initially recommended books and had taken to perusing Ezri’s carefully curated library for more. Currently, it was a collection of old homemaking magazines that had her attention, as she took a few notes. They were mostly quiet; now and then Ezri would say something and they would talk briefly. 

“I’m... not gonna be able to put age play and pet play based contracts in different sections,” Ezri sighed, rearranging papers.

“Too much overlap?” 

“Too much overlap.” 

Lalia's reading was fine; it was mostly her body that was tired from moving today, though there had been mentally draining parts of the last few weeks as they coordinated everything from address changes to phone bills to network documentation. 

The consideration contract had a three month term, her own training period—at the end of which, assuming all went well, and that they didn’t want to spend more time in that phase, she would be collared, owned in totality— _irrevocable consent._ No safewords, no limits, no _no_ , no contract termination, no refusal. At that point, the contract would not be enforceable from her side and Ezri was allowed to change it, but agreed to _maintain the integrity of it as a matter of honor rather than enforceability_. They would review, edit, and sign it again once every six months at that point, just to correct the little details that changed in life. That was when they would start on training others.

She was glad when Ezri said, “It’s late. Time for bed, maybe?” with a stroke of her hair.

She did have a bit of trepidation about the first time properly going through the evening routine they had set. They’d done it a few times when she had slept over by now—but this felt different. She lived here; it felt less like playing house and more like a job.

Tonight, it wasn’t terribly complex. Ezri had assured her—if you could call it that—that she was sure once they had others around, and as they ramped things up in general, it might be a bit more taxing. But tonight it just meant a last sweep to close and lock windows and doors, draw blinds and curtains, shut lights, check that nothing was horrifically out of place. Upstairs, she changed into the gray nightgown they had settled on her sleeping in and set her alarm. Unfolded and laid out the large, thick, fluffy blanket that had become the floor sleeping arrangement—enough it could provide cushion under her and fold over her as a blanket, be balled up into a pillow. “All in one,” Ezri had called the final idea of _big, thick blanket_ with a slight smirk Lalia felt more than saw, the light press of Ezri’s lips on hers. “No complex bed sets for you.” The fluffy side was an off white cream, the fleece side a muted dark purple that matched any of the bedspreads. 

Lalia was curled up on it reviewing the day’s notes and making tomorrow’s when Ezri got in bed. "Anything left to review with me?” 

Lalia shook her head.

"Shut that when you’re done.” Ezri nodded at the last bedside light—a little task lamp that had ended up near her on the floor when they realized how often she was up later than Ezri.

"Yes, ma’am.” 

Ezri quickly fell asleep.

Lalia soon finished with the notes and forced herself to shut the light—she needed the rest—but sleep evaded her for a while.

In the morning, it made her a little sleepy. Ezri was gone when she woke to her alarm, fumbling to shut it. She showered, dressed, made the bed, folded up her blanket, set the tray that functioned as her nightstand on top of it, and was more awake by the time she flipped lights on and blinds and curtains open in the entry room, kitchen, living room, and dining room.

She started breakfast—Ezri had set the menus for the first few weeks, set some more long term ground rules about levels of healthy and homemade, preferences, but said Lalia would likely be setting the menus after that, at first with approval, and then Ezri would cease to really look at them unless maybe they had company. Breakfast at 9:30 and dinner at 6, breakfast at the breakfast nook and dinner in the dining room, table set properly, cleanup to happen right after. Breakfast was always served with coffee, dinner with water. 

She didn’t see Ezri until she was finishing setting breakfast on the table, and Ezri, apparently having watched the clock, appeared in the kitchen, gave her a soft kiss on the lips, said, “Good morning, sweetheart.” 

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“You may sit.” 

Lalia did, and Ezri across from her; they talked over breakfast. Since they had been mostly quiet last night, Ezri talked now about what she’d been working on. “It’s interesting,” she said, “how diverse the contracts are, even though I narrowed it down to only in network. Some of them include network rules for events or just take them up day to day, but a lot of them don’t even mention it. I mean, some of them don’t mention a whole lot, read like wedding vows.” 

Lalia nodded. “Whenever I saw examples, it was always very… detailed outlines or flowery wedding vows and not a lot of in between. I’d be interested in looking at the network ones once you have them all together.” 

“I guess. I do wonder if there’s not… other documents, for people who go flowery wedding vow end.” 

“A lot of people work like that,” Lalia shrugged, though her expression said _I have no idea how._

"A lot of people don’t want to have to read, I think,” said Ezri, which made Lalia laugh a little. She felt like she wasn’t supposed to be pretentious about this, but Ezri’s agreement brought it out of her and also made it feel more agreeable in present company than pretentious. “How was your reading? You ended up with _American Cookery_?”

“It’s good,” said Lalia. “I was kind of skeptical, thought it would be really outdated, but it’s pretty easy to… age up? Modernize? Mentally. Even the stories and articles are interesting, if they’re not… useful? The ads are wild. I haven’t heard of half of these brands except from my grandparents.” 

Ezri laughed. “I got the first few of them I found from my mom. They were a little before her time, but she ended up with a few somehow.” 

“Well, since it’s amply biologically possible for you to be my mother,” Lalia mumbled, a moment later not sure if that was bratty, but Ezri laughed again, which seemed to make it okay either way.

“Well, since you’re the one invested in reading them, sweetheart.” 

Lalia smiled, lowering her gaze in acquiescence. “The menus are interesting,” she said; “mostly just because I don’t see modern cookbook type things that have them.” 

“If you’re not getting your recipes individually on the Internet, I think plenty of people wouldn’t call it modern to begin with.” 

“Well, there’s that. But I… I think that’s the thing. Is that I see recipes individually and beyond like, thinly veiled ads, don’t really see much about combining them. There’s an art to it. Pairing sides and desserts and drinks. But I don’t know much about it. I’ve just gone with what feels right.”

“Well, if you think about it at all, you’re probably ahead of the game. Honestly, if you bother with side dishes, you’re probably ahead of the game.”

“Maybe,” she said, because she still wasn’t sure how to agree with Ezri enough to be agreeable, but not so emphatically she put her own pretentiousness in it. And, she truly didn’t see other people cook much and could only speak to it so much.

As breakfast wrapped up, Ezri kissed her and said, “Come find me when you’re done cleaning up.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Cleanup was nothing terribly elaborate, although her recollection of where things went was getting better. 

When she was done, as told, she went to find Ezri, who was in the living room, doing something on her laptop. She shut it and stood, gave Lalia a light kiss on the lips, said, “Good girl,” though Lalia wasn’t sure what she had done that was so praise worthy. “Have you thought of anything on the contract? That we didn’t note to address later?”

Lalia did one more quick run through of her biggest thoughts and concerns so far, and shook her head. Nothing new. They’d already gone through and noted things they thought were most likely to change, things Lalia needed to be taught how to do, so on. She felt like her mind was spinning, but not with any real questions.

“I don’t want to keep asking you incessantly. But I don’t want you filtering those out if I’m not asking.” 

“I’ll tell you if I think of anything.” 

“Good. I wanted to address one concern you had. You wanted to do something like a run through of what discipline would look like.” 

“… Yes, ma’am,” said Lalia, and it was true, she did, though even the idea of practicing that seemed to flip her stomach. Ezri had a fairly specific procedure and Lalia hadn’t wanted her knowledge of it to get tested for the first time when she was already in trouble. 

She hadn’t realized she was avoiding Ezri’s gaze until Ezri tilted her chin up and said, “You haven’t done anything wrong. But I think you’re right that knowing what to do in advance will help. I’m not going to actually strike you.” She released her. 

Lalia nodded. 

“So, normally I would confirm first exactly what happened, and why. If it’s a safety issue, an accident, lack of understanding—it stops there. Otherwise, I’d expect an apology, and then I would tell you to fetch that cane from the mantel—” she gestured “—and wait in my office presenting it, which gives us some privacy. If I thought either of us needed time to cool down, I might leave you waiting a while, but I'll always start this process as fast as possible. I think that cane looks vanilla enough to leave out here, and then it's always in sight in a place you—and any trainees—will be in often. Also, all of this applies if you’re the one administering to someone else, except you’d use your own office. Also… also, that’ll be the only implement used for discipline, and only used for that. In case of any confusion.” She paused.

Lalia nodded understanding. 

“I know a lot of people heavily blur play and punishment, especially when it’s corporal, but I like to make it really distinct. The fact is, it’s over fast, and it leaves a reminder—something I can’t really say for negative punishment that’s effective—and it’s easy to measure. But I’m rambling.” She stopped, kissed Lalia’s cheek. “Go get the cane and wait in my office presenting it. Oh, and shut the office door behind you.”

"Yes, ma'am." Lalia fetched the cane, curtsied, and left, very aware of Ezri watching her until she was out of sight. She shut Ezri’s office door behind her, but it made being alone in the room feel even stranger—most of the house, she’d get used to, but she didn’t see much reason for her to be alone in Ezri’s office with the door shut all that often.

She wasn’t sure exactly _where_ to be presenting the cane but didn’t want to think about it too long and freeze, figuring Ezri would tell her if she picked the wrong place, so she picked a spot near the center of the room facing the door, knelt in what was basically her normal kneeling position, with the cane laying across her palms, as the _presenting object_ position had specified. An easy one to remember.

Ezri entered shortly, set the laptop on the desk, and then held out her hand. Lalia gave her the cane, holding it up in both hands without lifting her head and tilting it into Ezri’s grasp. 

“Good girl.” She didn’t comment on the spot Lalia had selected. “Up.” 

Lalia stood. 

“Over the desk, facing the wall. Grab the other side.” 

Lalia did; Ezri’s desk backed up to the wall but there was enough space to wrap her fingers around the other side, over her head. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to do anything with her clothes, but Ezri did it for her—flipping her skirt up, tugging her underwear down her thighs. “Let the trainees move their own clothes," she amended aloud. "Now, you, in general, are gonna stay as still as you can, and only talk if I ask you for an answer. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri tapped her with the cane, slowly, but didn’t hit her, though Lalia was jumpy anyway; Ezri had said she wouldn’t strike her, though, and her mind trusted that if her body didn't. “This is the part where I’d be hitting you. Usually without warm up or cooldown or the usual rhythms of harder and lighter. And I know that probably doesn’t make people focus very well, but I’ll probably talk anyway because I can’t help myself.” Lalia heard her smile. “If I say anything important, I’ll get back to it later. When you’re administering, you can talk or not. You’ll figure out what comes naturally. I’ll usually give you an idea of severity to use. Towards the end, I’ll stop, or you’ll stop, and I’ll tell you that I’m going to strike you six more times, and that you’re gonna count each one, like, ‘One, thank you, ma’am; please may I have another?’ And ask if you understand. If it's a very quick correction—neglecting something, say—the whole thing will be just that, but with twelve." 

Lalia was quiet, not sure if it counted as a prompt, but Ezri was quiet too long, and she said, “Yes, ma’am." 

“Good. Count.” She tapped her again, firmly enough to be distinct, but nothing that approached hurting. 

“One, thank you, ma’am; please may I have another?” 

They went through six. After the last question, which Lalia asked hesitantly, Ezri said, “You may not,” and fixed her clothes. “At this point, you do whatever aftercare they usually want. Praise for handling it well, if they did. Always stating forgiveness. If there’s anything left to handle—like fixing what originally went wrong, if there’s something to fix—address that again. You might want to follow up later. Then, you, they, put the cane back where it was once dismissed. Up.” Lalia straightened, hands smoothing her clothes out one more time automatically before folding behind her back. Ezri smiled at her. “Let’s hope you don’t need to remember this often.” Kissed her and asked, “Any questions?” 

“Was there… anything I should have done differently?” 

“No. You got the idea.” She gave her a real but playful swat on the ass, and said, “Go put that back,” with a nod at the cane. “And then you may do whatever it is you do. If you don’t have any other questions.”

Lalia laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” Offered a small curtsy—getting better—took the cane, and left, returned it to where it had been gingerly.

Throughout the day, she did some chores, asked Ezri questions and responded to other checks, reminders, critiques, reevaluated some of her unpacking, and was pleased to find her updated driver’s license in the mail, less pleased to find how many promotional post move offers showed up with it.

Around two-thirty, Ezri found her, reading on the couch, and said, “I was thinking,” as if it were a common full sentence.

It took a small amount of restraint for Lalia to say, “Yes, ma’am?” and not something like, _Really?_ or, _How surprising._ She reflected Ezri might not have minded a small amount of sarcasm but it never hurt to err polite.

“Okay, well, I was thinking about this before… well, before you—and hadn’t gotten around to it, and then I kind of put it on hold, and then you said some things that made me think about it more.” She’d sat next to her while she spoke and Lalia had wondered before that if she was supposed to—stand? Kneel? But Ezri simply pulled her closer, stroked her back. “The play room, the dungeon, whatnot. _I_ know what everything is and where it goes and how to maintain it, but you might not, and trainees really might not. So I was thinking of making a guide to that. Just, almost everything in that room, except the library, which is already covered. Since it’s mostly tasks as needed, there wasn’t a lot I wrote up for what I was thinking of with the contract, the like, what day for trash, how to sort laundry since that’s on there repeating, all that. Or, some things I just figured I’d tell you once and you’d remember over time—stuff you’d use all the time, like where dishes or clothes go. But I tend to go through phases in the play room stuff, and there are things you might not need to deal with for long stretches of time, or just for events.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’d probably want to ramble at you and have you document it. Make sense of it. And ask questions, since you’ll probably figure out what information I leave out because it’s in my head. Not to mention some of it’s probably best taught hands on, or it’s really visual.” 

“Sounds fun to me.” 

Ezri twirled a strand of Lalia’s hair around her fingers. “Good.” 

Over the next few days, it was something they worked on when not much else was going on for a stretch—both of them in the dungeon, Ezri talking, Lalia taking notes, asking questions, making sense of it later. A few things became diagrams of storage, furniture placement and setup, and more—and those she took to making alone, since she didn’t much need Ezri for that, coming back to the room for reference and very occasionally coming to her with a question.

Where things went, what they were, how to clean them, how to charge them or what batteries they took, maintenance considerations for different materials and items, how to coil rope for easy unfurling, little glossary notes on words like _whipping twine_ and the difference between the _fall_ or _thong_ of a whip. How to make a whip cracker and how to replace one, in the case of drawing blood. Drawers held rule sheets and ribbons and more for events. A fire extinguisher was readily accessible. 

Things to restock. Condoms, lube, gloves, quick snacks, water bottles, painkillers, baby wipes, candles, cleaners, tissues, bandaids, antiseptic, glucose tablets, allergy meds, instant ice packs, earplugs, massage oils—

Brands, sizes, dosages—

Lalia understood exactly why Ezri wanted a thorough guide written up, for them, for any future trainees, for guests. 

Ezri was pleased with the results, placed the final version in the play room exactly where the guide said it would go, wrapped her arms around Lalia’s waist from behind her and murmured, “See, you’re of very good service to me,” dropping one hand and running it back up Lalia’s thigh, up her skirt, digging her nails into Lalia’s skin, making her gasp, “and that, to me, is more tempting than the image of the pretty little slave kneeling naked in the corner doing nothing.” Her fingers slipped into Lalia’s panties, toying with her, eliciting breathy, surprised whimpers. “And makes me want to fuck you even more than the fact I’ve been using you and teasing you for days and you haven’t dared ask for relief. Not that it hurts.” She felt Ezri’s smirk, her lips at the side of her face, pressing feather light kisses even as the touch of her hand grew more insistent. 

Lalia gave a small moan. Yes, since she had moved in Ezri had fucked her once without allowing her to orgasm—informing her of that before she could ask; it hadn’t occurred to her to try again—used her for her own pleasure—and teased her frequently, a lot like this, usually a little more casually, or the little gestures, an unnecessary tug of her hair for her attention, fingertips just there at her throat when they kissed, swatting her before leaving a room or dismissing her, whispering _slut_ in her ear when Ezri's teasing found her especially wet.

“Because I’m starting to figure out how that slave wiring of yours works, Lalia,” Ezri said now, her fingers slowing just a bit as she saw Lalia’s body wind up; “I’m starting to see how desperately you _need_ to serve and be useful, and that if I tell you to suck my cock, you’re not going to settle for mediocre. You’d rather be an eager little cockslut and show me what you learned from all that research you did before you even knew whose cock you’d be sucking.” 

A deep blush slowly creeped through Lalia’s cheeks. 

"And that, sweetheart, is what makes me want to fuck you most.” Her fingers stopped their ministrations altogether; Lalia whimpered and tried to shift in a way that would bring Ezri’s touch back, Ezri’s other arm holding her steady. “And you did a very good job on the play room manual, so now you’re going to go pick out one of those things you were eyeing while you wrote about batteries and lube types and cleaning, and I’m going to make you come with it.” Her arm slipped from around her and Lalia almost stumbled. “Go on.” She gave her ass a light pat. Lalia bit her lip, went over to a dresser, and returned with a cordless Hitachi magic wand. 

“I know it’s basic,” she said. “But I’ve always wanted to try it?” It sounded like a question, a little hopeful.

Ezri smiled, took it from her. She looked around, guided Lalia over to the massage table and simply bent her over it, slipped her panties down her legs, flicked her thigh and Lalia got the message and stepped out of the garment. Ezri tossed them on the table next to her. “Soaked,” she commented, just to make Lalia blush again. Not like Ezri had nothing to do with it.

The wand turned on, rather loud from behind her. Much more high powered than the cheap little bullet vibrators she was used to. When Ezri pressed it to the right spot, her other hand fisted in Lalia’s hair, she gasped as she realized that the sound had not accurately portrayed the sheer power of the toy’s vibrations. It almost hurt. Her desperation ran through the roof. She could have come in a few seconds if Ezri had ordered her to, whimpered and squirmed as sensation flooded her, aware only of very concentrated pleasure and Ezri’s hand in her hair, the way she’d started to clench.

“So how does that compare to what you imagined?” Ezri asked, light and teasing.

“Oh… _fuck_ ,” she mumbled, which wasn’t an answer, crying out as her need built, and, louder, “Please, please, I’ll—I need—”

“As good as you thought? Better?”

“Yes! Yes, ma’am, please, may I, I’m going to—”

“May you _what_?” 

“Please may I come? Ma’am—please—I—”

“Come,” Ezri growled in her ear. “ _Now._ ” 

Lalia cried out and did, gasping for breath, cunt clenching tightly around nothing, pleasure flooding her senses. She writhed as the continued touch of the toy grew too intense and Ezri withdrew it until it was barely touching her, then shut and withdrew it altogether, set it down as Lalia stilled, quieted a little, panting, whispered, “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“How was that?” Ezri wasn’t pulling her hair anymore, stroking it instead.

“Oh,” she said, still panting, “it was… intense. A lot. _Good_." 

“That was intensity setting one, by the way. Of four. Of the steady vibration set.” 

“Oh, _God,_ ” said Lalia, and Ezri laughed. Lalia gasped as Ezri’s fingers touched her, and whimpered at how easily she got worked up again. 

Ezri’s fingers slipped through her folds and she said, “God, you’re wet.” She trailed her fingers down Lalia’s thigh and Lalia felt how much fluid had dripped that far, squirmed. “Hmm.” Her touch ran back up, and she easily slipped one finger, then two, inside of her, fucked her slowly, and Lalia whimpered. “Oh, did you want _more_?” Ezri asked. “Little slut wants to be fucked even though she just came?” 

Lalia whimpered, closed her eyes tightly. “If it pleases you, ma’am.” 

Ezri laughed. “Clever girl. What research did you get that phrase from, hmm?” 

“Ah! I don’t know—I don’t know, ma’am… please,” she trailed into a mumble, shifting against Ezri’s hand.

“Mm, I do like seeing you _needy_.” Ezri ran her nails down Lalia’s back, pressing hard, watching the pink lines that followed her touch and hearing Lalia’s gasp. Fucked her faster, rougher, until Lalia pleaded again, to come again this time, and Ezri told her, “Be a good girl and show me how you can restrain yourself. You’re going to come. But you’re not going to come for ten seconds. Ten. Nine.” 

“Oh—”

“Eight. Seven. Six.” Her touch only grew more intense if anything, faster, her other hand tugging firmly on Lalia’s hair again. 

“Five. Four. Don’t you dare fucking come before zero. Three.” 

“Please—”

“Two. One. Zero. _Come_. Come for me.” 

Lalia did, rocking against her, wails falling from her lips, waves of pleasure washing over her, several seconds of gasping after, before she managed, “Thank—thank you, ma’am.”

Ezri stopped, withdrew her touch, circled the table. “You’re welcome.” Pressed her fingers to Lalia’s lips. “Suck.” Lalia did, whimpering as she cleaned herself off of Ezri's fingers, tongue swirling around and between them, an odd angle still mostly bent over the table. Ezri pulled back. “Good girl. Now you may clean yourself up. You might want clean panties.” She flicked the pair she’d set next to her. "And use that lovely guide you wrote up to get this cleaned and charged and put away.” She tapped the vibrator. Kissed Lalia’s head. “I’ll find you later.” One last swat that made Lalia jump more than it should have, and she was gone.


	7. Adjusting

The dungeon manual had been a fun project, tedious at parts but overall interesting and not too demanding; the little scene in the dungeon right after wasn’t anything Lalia was complaining about, either. And while Ezri had said it with vague sarcasm, there had been something vaguely satisfying about immediately getting to look in that manual for something, even if it was just a double check on cleaning the magic wand. 

Other tasks as the days went on proved a lot more labor intense, and she only had so much interest in dusting previously neglected high up places, though it did allow her mind to wander over other tasks or what she’d read last. 

She did question one thing about that dungeon scene, though, that she pondered briefly, then mentally dropped, until Ezri mentioned it in a conversation a few days later, and used the word _reward_. She saw Lalia’s frown, paused, tilted her head. “Something wrong?” 

Lalia shook her head; nothing was wrong, per se,just a difference of semantics or theory. But evidently the question had shown up on her face too well. “Not wrong,” she said, not sure how to actually approach this question—if it even was a question. A statement, maybe, a question implied. 

“Hmm,” said Ezri, and waited, prompting. 

“Just, what are your thoughts on that—on… rewards?” 

Ezri’s turn to frown, thinking. “That’s a vague question. Overall? I don’t usually do a reward system. We’ve talked about that.” 

“But… you keep using the word.” Lalia cringed mentally; that sounded accusatory. “I mean, it’s fine—I was just curious. Because you’ve said you don’t do rewards, and then like, with that scene—you’ve kind of implied it was, before. And it was nice, don’t get me wrong, but… I was wondering.” 

“Ah.” Ezri paused for a split second and Lalia started to babble again: 

“I’m sorry. It’s fine. I just got stuck on it. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, avoiding Ezri’s eyes. 

Ezri gave her the _look at me_ tap and said, “I’ll decide what you should and shouldn’t say.” 

Lalia nodded anxiously, biting back a response—any response—because she was clearly only making this worse. 

“And if you have questions about the way I phrase things, or think about things, you are to ask, and I’ll never be bothered by the question, even if my answer is ‘deal with it’.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lalia whispered. 

“Anyway,” said Ezri. “No, you’re right; I don’t do rewards and I didn’t really mean it was. It’s… cause and effect. A privilege.” 

Lalia looked puzzled. 

“So, we’ve talked about service being the reward itself. Something you feel and something I want you to feel.” 

Lalia nodded.

“So, if I allow you to serve me, that’s not a reward—that’s a general expectation. But I’m not obligated to let you do it, even if it's useful for me—so it’s a privilege, not a right.” 

Lalia nodded again, thinking.

“The same for play. In general, there’s the expectation that it happens on some kind of regular basis. It’s not a reward, but something like an expectation. But since it isn’t an obligation, even if I enjoy it—it’s a privilege. Both of those are something that I can take away for whatever reason; so, keeping them in place is… not a reward, but… indulgent for both of us.” 

“Okay,” Lalia said slowly.

“Now, at that moment, the reason I wanted to play with you was because—as stated then—” slight smirk “—you'd been especially useful, something that draws me towards play and sex and arousal. Not like watching you do the laundry is pornographic or anything, but if I think about it enough—you, wanting to please me…” 

“Right.” 

“So it was more of… an effect, of that project getting finished. Not for your sake, necessarily, but for mine. I let you choose part of it because I didn’t really care what I used and I did figure you have a lot of new things to try. But, if you hadn’t really wanted to play right then, short of a safeword, I would've done it anyway, which doesn’t make it much of a reward.”

Interesting. Lalia hadn’t thought about what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been into it.

“Like, if you do a good job on one task, and I give you another one that’s a bit harder—it’s not really a reward, but an effect; I saw you handle the first one well, so I trusted you with the second one. If I take a task back from you, it’s not a punishment; it’s just practical; I realized you couldn’t do it safely, or whatever. Or I forgot I’d delegated it, because I’m getting used to you being here, too. And the fact you like being delegated to is, well, why you’re here. A bonus. And if it’s a task you don’t like, it’s still what it is.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“That’s my actual theory on it. Saying reward was a shortcut because sometimes I just like to say things. Don’t overthink it if I say it again, but I’ll keep this in mind.” 

“That’s… it’s fine, like I said. I think I get it now. I just… hadn’t heard the actual theory, in, like, the right way.” She tried to run over things Ezri had said on the subject. “What about the letting me sleep at the foot of your bed thing?” 

“What makes it not a reward since it’s also not a general expectation?” 

“Right.” 

“Hmm. Similar to how I said I wanted to play with you because you’d been useful, and that draws me towards play. If I did let you sleep on the bed, it’d be about the overall effect of the day. When you're really pleasing to me, I lean towards affection and having you closer. It’s still a privilege versus right thing and it’s still a, ‘I would do it even if you mildly objected.’ Did you have other questions?”

Lalia shook her head. 

“So, will you stop looking at me like you’re in trouble now?” 

Lalia flushed. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good.” Ezri kissed her cheek. 

While her anxiety had risen during the conversation, thinking about it soothed her when faced with similar questions over the coming days. She hadn’t realized until then how much she’d been analyzing, overanalyzing, things Ezri did or didn’t do, said or didn’t say, told her to do or not do or didn’t comment on, what permissions she granted or didn’t, times she forgot Lalia’s presence and did her job for her, times Ezri praised her idly—an effect; Lalia did something and Ezri wanted to praise her for it, not a reward for her sake, where she had to wonder at what she’d done that was worthy. 

It didn’t quite stop her from doing that. But it usually made her take a deep breath, hold her tongue, and not get so stressed. 

Ezri had worked with her on the little things, especially since she had moved in. She silently waited for Lalia to rephrase permission requests properly, add an honorific where it seemed suited. Waited expectantly for the, “Yes, ma’am,” after orders and, “Thank you, ma’am,” (if sitting) or curtsy (if standing) after granting a permission or favor, both only when it wasn’t more disruptive than it was worth, a condition she got a feel for quickly. She rarely needed further prompting than the silence, occasionally her name, and less with time. 

The same for positions. Ezri nudging the inside of Lalia’s thigh with her foot when she was kneeling to tell her to keep her knees farther apart. A tap on her arm to tell her to move her hands farther up her thighs. A hand hovering above her shoulder to tell her to sit up straighter. It was becoming muscle memory, and realizing how much keeping her hands at the right spot on her thighs indicated if she was keeping her shoulders back or not was an oddly significant mental breakthrough. 

Sometimes Ezri would say, “Try that again,” when an attempt at a curtsy went especially badly, or offer a specific critique. 

When Ezri laid out plans to host an event a lot like the one they’d been to at Charlie’s, with Lalia overseeing borrowed slaves—Lalia was mentally screaming _effect effect effect_ , even though she couldn’t decide if this would be a reward or a punishment if it were one or the other. 

On the one hand, she was flattered if baffled that Ezri thought she could handle something like this; one the other, her heart rate went through the roof and she knew Ezri knew this would cause her stress. 

In reality, she knew it was practical. It would be ridiculous for them to jump into training new people if she had never overseen others before. And as another stepping stone, Ezri said she had volunteered her to serve the house at an upcoming party for a night before that, an event at Charlie’s again. That would be in a few days. Their party would be in a little over two weeks. 

Ezri had already sent invites, already volunteered her, and that caught Lalia’s attention—that her reaction right now didn’t matter. No amount of panic was going to talk Ezri out of this, and that was… oddly soothing. A reminder that it wasn’t her job to evaluate this idea. Quieted some of the many questions her mind was trying to answer at once—because they weren’t questions for her. 

They’d go over everything in advance; she’d get to meet with everyone she’d be overseeing once the day before, and have setup time the day of. Similarly, for Charlie’s party, she’d get to meet with the majordomo for that event—Paige—with the others, in advance, and have setup time the day of. 

“Any other questions?” Ezri asked her. 

“Ah…” She looked over her notes and then handed them to Ezri helplessly. Ezri looked them over, nodded, handed them back. 

“I don’t think you need anything else right now.” Still, her eyes searched Lalia’s expression. “How are you feeling?” 

Lalia laughed. “Nervous? Excited?” 

“You’ll be fine. Be excited. Nothing like your first few events.” Ezri kissed her cheek, her nose, her lips. 

“Reliving the feeling through me?” 

“Maybe. I know I’ve been more excitable about it all lately. But that might be the show off in me, having you to bring.” 

“Hmm.” She still didn’t feel like she was much to show off, but didn’t say it. The self deprecation rule was one of the hardest to adjust to, as easy as it sounded. Ezri pointed it out when she broke it, but treated it as an accident. She changed the subject slightly. “What were your first events like?” 

“God,” said Ezri; “it’s been a while. Let’s see.” She talked about going to public events—munches, classes. "Then… hmm, I started going to parties. It was exciting… because of how mundane it was? You mentioned it, after the last one—someone’s naked and getting beaten or set on fire or hung from the ceiling, and people are talking about what’s on TV and the chips so and so brought.” 

Lalia laughed. “Yeah. That’s kind of… striking.” 

“It wasn’t that it was so exciting to see people play, it was just… nice to be in a space where you had that kind of freedom. Now I so rarely have to leave those places, I… forget what’s… normal. Vanilla. That was part of what made me notice you at Temptation.”

“What?” 

“Like… Temptation is this weird in between, right? It’s a light BDSM space, a bit swinger, but it’s not like, a play party for people who are used to being there. You’re supposed to do kinky things, but kind of in a showy way. You’re not really… well, not that you’re not supposed to, but that it’s not the expectation… that you just… quietly… _are._ ”

“Are?”

“God, I’m explaining this badly. It’s a place where you do a very specific set of kinky things for a specific kind of attention, y’know? You find a spot you can crack whips in to see if someone will ask you to hit them with one. You make your partner sit on the floor so you can humiliate them. Not… because it’s fun, or because that’s just the way you work. Like, if—probably when we go—back to Temptation, if I had you kneeling next to me, people would comment. Think it was supposed to… mean something, invite something.”

“Okay,” said Lalia. “What does that… have to do with me?”

“You,” said Ezri, “were very much… just existing. You weren’t looking for attention and weren’t trying to, or letting yourself, act vanilla either. You—had all of the submissive mannerisms you later talked about reading about; you _were_ doing it on purpose—I knew that watching you clear across the room; you were self correcting when you did something you thought might be wrong. But you weren’t doing it… _at_ people. Just there. In the background. Like you would be at one of the events coming up. Acting like someone who cared about protocol was watching, but not like you were trying to distract them into looking. That’s not something I really saw at Temptation much. So I thought… maybe you also didn’t have interests best suited there.”

“You were right.” 

“Yes,” Ezri smiled, and fingered a strand of Lalia’s hair. “But, my first events. I remember my first protocol event. It was kind of… one of the moments, y’know? When things clicked.” 

“You… kind of talked about that? You mentioned you got into protocol because you saw it done at events.”

“Right. I… hadn’t thought about it much. Protocols were just a thing you had for the practical, I thought until then. The details you personally were really nitpicky on, or something. I didn’t really get any other… why.” She trailed off. “And then I got talked into going to a high protocol dinner. I didn’t really want to go, but I didn’t have any excuse not to and I wasn’t opposed, I just wasn’t interested. But I went. And I saw what protocol could be. Before that, I thought—you know, I don’t really care exactly how someone answers when I give them an order as long as it’s reasonable, or how they kneel next to me, like, it’s kneeling, how badly can you fuck it up. But then I saw—not so much just the event protocols, but the couples who clearly had a few of their own, too, which you got less of a sense of at public munches—and how they used both sets—and how it was like… maybe I don’t care exactly how someone kneels, in reality. I have no strong opinions on it except for a... minor preference for certain aesthetics. But if you express that minor preference, as a protocol, it gives them another thing to follow. It lets them show you that they care about that preference—your preference. Something else to obey.” 

“Yes,” said Lalia softly. “That’s… yes,” she finished stupidly, then laughed. “From my side, that’s… how it feels. A way of expressing… respect, love, submission, devotion. That both people can understand. Like, if you didn’t care about anything enough to codify it, I wouldn’t… have as much of a language of those emotions to speak.” 

“Right. And I just—that was it. That was a huge part of what I wanted from then on—someone who would be as interested in that language as I was. Decent service was always—the actionable thing, before that, but it didn’t hold much weight inherently as… submission. It was a language anyone could speak, without it really being a big deal. But personal protocol… was a private language. I only let certain people know how to speak it. Only certain people bothered to learn.” 

“I hadn’t thought about it that way. A private language. I mean—you have a binder full of people’s… languages.” 

“Kind of. If reading a contract really let you speak the language, no one would need training and I’d be out of a job.”

“Oh,” said Lalia. “That makes sense, too.” 

“Handing someone a dictionary doesn’t teach them decent English, right?” 

“Right. I’ll… have to think about that.” 

“Anyway, I think seeking out the protocol based crowd once I moved here helped me get into the network based crowd, since here there’s decent overlap and activity levels.” 

Lalia was always interested in things like this. She’d read the binder Ezri had put together of those contracts—and Ezri was right; she didn’t speak those languages so much as had a dictionary. Even the domestic magazines provided some insight into the whys of certain tasks and ways of doing things. The other things she’d read, too. Making the dungeon manual. Ezri’s network and community stories. Watching other people in dynamics, talking.

Ezri had prodded at her keeping in touch with friends, especially those she could be honest with, but she hadn’t heard a word from any old work acquaintances since her last day at either job, and didn’t particularly miss anyone, and she hadn’t talked about… anything near this level, with any of them. 

The most vanilla interaction she’d had since was probably Ezri introducing her to the landscaper, trading contact information and telling him to use Lalia—her assistant—as a first contact point from now on. If he’d had any doubts about Ezri’s PA, he didn’t raise them, as awkwardly as Lalia had handled the interaction from her perspective. Her interaction with the woman delivering groceries had been even more short lived. 

Ezri occasionally made more vanilla calls—family, managing investments. Lately, she had started looking into trusts and life insurance and power of attorney and other legal and financial provisions if they were to sign the actual Ownership contract. 

Lalia hadn’t had much more paperwork to do after moving yet—but was rapidly working on her systems of keeping track of new information, like Ezri’s feedback, and had found a million new things to research that had slipped her mind before—little cleaning things, how often to do certain household maintenance tasks—changing air filters and rotating mattresses and so much more—the how to of lady’s maid type work. 

She was aware she was getting a little tightly wound as she processed it all, and the next day, when Ezri told her of some other minor cleaning technique she’d neglected, Lalia snapped, “Could we not act like I’m stupid for not knowing things you’ve never told me before?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, indignant at Ezri’s slight condescension as she tried to make Lalia understand it, but she regretted speaking immediately, lowered her head and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am; I’ll fix it,” softly, heart racing with nervousness at the response. 

“I didn’t mean to imply you were stupid,” Ezri sighed. “But, watch it.” 

Lalia nodded anxiously. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. Ezri showed her the technique one more time, a little more patient, kissed her cheek, and left. 

Lalia just hoped she’d be a little more put together by the time the events came around. 


	8. Serving

Lalia was slightly early to Paige’s party preparation meeting the day before the event itself. Ezri had her go alone, take the car, gave her the address. She’d been to Charlie’s house before, which he shared with Paige and Naomi, but hadn’t had the address since she hadn’t driven that time. 

She knocked, not letting herself in like Ezri had. The front exterior looked somewhat different in daylight. Naomi answered. “Hi,” she said brightly; “you must be Lalia?” 

“That’s me.” 

“Come in, come in. You can leave your bag there if you want, shoes if you want—if not, whatever. We’re gonna be in the living room.” 

Lalia did leave her bag but kept her shoes, and followed Naomi to the living room. "We’ll get started for real when Bailey gets here. I don’t think you met? He was sick for the last party.” 

“I don’t think so,” said Lalia. The name only rang a bell from being told about this event, and she wasn’t sure where else she would have met him. 

“Anyway, I’m Naomi—I know we like, crossed paths a few times.” Naomi shook her hand enthusiastically and said, “And Paige!” as Paige walked in, carrying some papers, using the other hand to swipe a loose blonde curl out of her face. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she said, setting the papers down and also shaking Lalia’s hand. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

The doorbell rang—it occurred to her she hadn’t seen one—and Naomi went to get it. 

“Sit, if you want,” said Paige, gesturing at the couches. “Master’s out so we can all sit wherever. And there’s snacks.” 

Lalia hadn’t managed to move when Naomi returned with Bailey—a sandy haired young man with freckled fawn skin and glasses. “Bailey, Lalia; Lalia, Bailey,” Naomi introduced. 

Lalia shook his hand, too. “Hi.” 

“Heyo.” 

He was evidently more comfortable here and sat on the couch without prompting. Lalia sat, too. Naomi sat next to Bailey and was shoving a chip at him, insisting they had gotten a new kind he had to try. He offered a thoughtful expression as he chewed, then an approving nod and a thumbs up, and a commentary about what he called the _flavor profile_. 

Paige went over the details for the party; they were fairly easy to remember, and made sense, and the way Paige presented the information seemed effortless in a way Lalia hoped she could pull off herself eventually. She had come prepared to take notes but didn’t find much need to. She felt much better by the time she left. As Ezri had figured out about her early on, details soothed her. Paige made the party seem like less of a big deal—not flippant, but interspersing protocols and tasks with reminders to eat beforehand and stay hydrated. 

They had all ended up just talking for a bit. Naomi was friendly and energetic; Bailey was sweet and geeky; Paige was motherly, soft spoken, and very bright. The three talking also filled her in on a slightly different social circle of the local scene. She knew some names by now—Asher, for one, the cheerful trans leatherboy she'd met before.

She texted Ezri that she was on her way back when she left, and her nerves had mostly shifted to excitement; this seemed doable enough, and the reality of getting to be in this situation felt more like she had dreamt it would, and less like the anxiety that had overcome her when initially faced with it.

Ezri was eager to hear how it had gone when she returned, and Lalia knelt next to her in the living room with her head in Ezri’s lap and told her all of her impressions and excitement and initial fears. 

“Good girl,” said Ezri, at Lalia’s conclusion that it was mostly—mostly—excitement she felt now, and kissed her head. “I thought you might feel better about it today.” She tugged her up, no longer sitting back on her heels, and kissed her on the lips this time. “I love you and you’ll do wonderfully.” Swatted at her. “Now make yourself useful and go get me more water.” 

Lalia laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” Stood, curtsied, took the glass from her, and went. Returned, set it down. 

“Good girl. You may go.” 

She offered another curtsy and left, unsure at first of exactly what she was going to go and do. Nothing was terribly urgent at the moment and she wanted a few minutes alone to just unwind. She ended up checking her email in her office, which revealed FetLife friend requests from Paige, Naomi, and Bailey, which she accepted with quick, curious skims of their profiles. 

She frowned at her own profile, the contents of which were honest but not eloquent, if it omitted a fair bit. The network. And without the context of the network, the training to be a majordomo part seemed… hard to explain, but at Ezri’s suggestion, she left it in with a focus on events and was simply vague. She smiled, though, at the _under consideration_ and _trainee of_ listed near the top, with Ezri’s profile next to both. 

In the end, her few minutes of unwinding ended with the alarm she’d set to remind herself to start dinner. So she went to start the chicken and potatoes and set the table, ended up waiting on the things cooking, reading a book on behavioral psychology between timers, making herself a reminder to ask Ezri about going to the library at some point—she had returns and a hold that had to be handled within about a week. 

Ezri did not appear before dinner was on the table, so Lalia went to find her, returned to the table with her, and they ate and talked about going to the library, and what Lalia was reading, and where they physically felt the emotion of being approved of (Lalia low in her chest; Ezri somewhere near her jaw), and why people couldn’t get a grip on negative reinforcement not being punishment, or a grip on using enough garlic in recipes. 

Ezri lingered while Lalia cleaned up dinner, pulled her over afterwards, and they stood in the kitchen in each other’s arms, foreheads resting together, quiet other than the occasional contented hum, still other than a slight sway and light kisses pressed to each other’s faces. 

Ezri kissed her nose, then her cheek; Lalia kissed her nose back, testing playfulness, and Ezri smiled, kissed her on the lips, then again, deeper, her tongue sliding over hers, teeth pulling at her lower lip until Lalia whimpered. When Ezri kissed her like this, it was rarely left at that, by the end of the night, at least. She became aware of Ezri’s hand resting in her hair as she pulled back, a moment before she gasped at the tug of it, and ended up on her knees on the cold kitchen tile, pulled down but not yanked. 

Ezri shifted her clothing barely out of the way, and her hand swiftly found the back of Lalia’s head again, barely pressing as she took the silent command and took Ezri’s cock in her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around her, eyes fluttering shut but body shifting into her proper kneeling position, reminders in mind, which made Ezri laugh at the moment, at the girl trying to please her in more ways than one. 

She leaned back on the kitchen counter and tightened her hand sharply in Lalia’s hair, eliciting a cry that she could both hear, muffled, and feel. 

She wasn’t particularly hard yet but let Lalia’s ministrations work their magic for a while, tongue and lips and moaned vibrations and, hesitantly, as Ezri grew more erect, fingers, wrapped near the base, toying with her elsewhere as a transition when her mouth’s attention shifted back to the shaft. She had a phrase in mind about a good blowjob being almost as much handjob as it was blowjob, and Ezri seemed to enjoy it, at least, if her sighs and gasps were any indication. 

She looked down to watch the girl, who noticed the slight shift, looked back up at her, all big blue eyes that would have looked a lot more innocent if not for what her mouth was doing. Ezri pulled her off of her with reluctance, but she had ideas not best suited to the kitchen. Fixed her clothes. Watched the now more familiar way Lalia’s tongue flicked around her lips, though familiarity hadn’t reduced her body’s reaction much. “Up.” 

She stood carefully and Ezri led her to the play room. Started unbuttoning Lalia’s shirt for her, tracing her fingers over the skin it revealed as she went, Lalia’s eyes following her, but decided she liked it unbuttoned but on, the white fabric mostly loose, and she didn’t terribly need it out of the way, so she left it. Slipped Lalia's—rather damp—panties down her thighs, gestured for her to step out of them. Looked her over, gray knee socks to strawberry blonde tresses and back, and smiled. “Bend over the massage table. And spread your legs.” 

Lalia did as bidden while Ezri found what she was looking for in the drawers and returned, caressing her, then a sound from behind her that sounded distinctly like putting on a nitrile glove and taking some of the contents from a bottle of lube. Confirmed a moment later, cold and damp when it touched her on Ezri’s gloved fingers, circling her ass and pressing just a little, enough to make her lean back into the touch, wanting more. The cold feeling rapidly went away as her skin and Ezri’s touch warmed it, and the pressing grew a little harder, slipping one finger inside her, fairly easily but moving carefully, pumping in and out and letting her get accustomed to it. “Mm,” said Ezri from behind her, “you like that?” Second finger, the slightest bit more of a stretch making her gasp. “You like having your pretty little ass fucked?” 

“Y-yes, ma’am.” It came out rather breathy due to its truth. 

“It definitely adjusts well,” she said, and her motions didn’t seem designed for arousal yet, just that adjustment. “Almost faster than your cunt does when you’re not especially wet. Seen almost as much use, maybe?” 

Lalia whimpered. She did have… certain tendencies, when left to her own devices in terms of sexual satisfaction. 

“Answer me.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” she got out quickly, aware that, whatever Ezri’s intentions, arousal was getting to her. 

Something about going down on her in the kitchen—how separate that start had been from the dungeon or the bedroom—with just the expectation that she would obey as well there, and the process of Ezri (half) undressing her, lying exposed over the table, skirt without panties unhelpful, while she absently took her time finding what she wanted, and the sensation and embarrassment. Lalia had not had humiliation listed as a primary interest, but had no opposition, if little heavy experience, but—the way Ezri used it, nonchalant vulgarities, entitled authority, did things to her. 

The touch withdrew, soon replaced by a different pressure, something cold again—metal, probably—a plug, also slick with lube, slowly being worked into her. She squirmed, need and the realization of the slightly larger size than her usual both, but Ezri’s other hand at her back steadied her. The slight discomfort that had built disappeared when it was fully in, the little pop of the transition to the much slimmer part before the base, leaving a pleasant, heavy, full feeling. 

“Good girl.” Ezri tossed the glove in the little trash can nearby, and returned, stroked her back. “How is that?” 

“Good,” she breathed. It wasn’t still actively ramping her up but wasn’t letting her come down very quickly, either. 

“Good,” Ezri echoed, and shifted behind her, _oh_ , and she was inside her, vaginally—she could hear the soft squelch of how wet she was there, without the lube, which she hadn’t consciously realized before, enough she took it easily, just pleasant friction, and the thought that she was so noticeably aroused fed the embarrassment, too. 

She felt each thrust through the plug, too, the pressure there, and it was easily overwhelming. She cried out beyond the running whimper she’d started as Ezri moved faster, couldn’t help the, “Please?” that fell from her lips shortly after. 

“Come,” Ezri ordered, and didn’t make her wait or beg and she was grateful; the orgasm flooded her the moment she heard the word, waves of pleasure, the vague awareness of Ezri coming, too, deep inside her, the whimper— 

“Thank you, ma’am,” a few moments before Ezri slowed and then stopped, both of them panting. 

“You’re welcome.” 

They both took a moment to breathe. Ezri slipped out of her, murmured, “Come here.” Lalia, on slightly shaky legs, straightened and turned. The slight shift of the plug from doing so felt dangerously like it would slip out—it had never happened, but it was a paranoia she had never fully adjusted to. “Kneel.” 

_Probably a good idea,_ Lalia couldn’t help but think as she did, limbs still trembling from the force of the orgasm. 

“Suck me clean.” 

Ezri’s hand in her tangled hair, not pressing, but waiting. Lalia did as told, with a slight gag at the salty mix of both of their fluids, but the nausea faded rapidly. She pulled back when she wasn’t sure what else to do, and Ezri smiled down at her. “Good girl.” She fixed her own clothes, retrieved her glasses, which Lalia hadn't noted her taking off. “You may clean yourself up, get into pajamas if you like, and put the lube away. … Wherever it went.” 

“I think you knocked it off the table,” she mumbled, remembering, and they both laughed.

"At least you didn't break my glasses."  Ezri brought her one of the bottles of water stored closest, and she drank almost half of it in one go, murmured a thanks.  “By the way,” said Ezri, “you’re going to leave that plug in until I tell you otherwise. You may ask to remove it if it’s bothering you, and if I’m asleep, you may remove it and leave me a message to notify me of it. Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And try to pee if you can. You don’t need a UTI.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good girl.” She offered her hand and Lalia took it, stood. Ezri gave her a gentle kiss with a less gentle tug on her hair, and then a press of her hand over her skirt enough to give a jolt to the plug inside her. Ran a hand down Lalia’s chest and stomach where her shirt still hung open, and murmured, “I’ll be in my office,” before she left her to see to her own needs. 

She didn’t ask, nor remove the plug, before instructed to after breakfast the next morning. It hadn’t really become bothersome, except for the occasional slipping feeling and a bit of irritation where it pressed against her skin on the exterior side. 

Mostly, maybe, she was too busy thinking about that night’s party. 

She had not been told to bring anything, by Paige or by Ezri, but she found time upon Paige’s go ahead and approximate head count to bake some snacks to bring, approved upon Ezri’s taste test. 

Ezri was going to drop her off at the party’s location for the setup time, and return later when the guests arrived, so Lalia didn’t strand her at home or to public transportation by being there with the car. 

Before going, Ezri tied a white ribbon around her neck as she had with the black one, and Lalia did a last minute mirror check, deciding to put her hair up again. 

They left in time to stop at the library on the way, leaving the checked out books in the car for Ezri to take home. 

Ezri pulled up in front of the house, leaned over and kissed her, said, “I love you. Have fun. I’ll see you later.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Ezri kissed her one more time before she got out of the car. She barely found a hand to ring the doorbell with, balancing the snacks, and was glad when Paige opened it quickly. “Hey,” she said, and then, “These look great. You can just set them in the kitchen. We’ll lay everything out all pretty later.” 

“Thanks,” said Lalia, and did so, and then actually managed to slip her bag off her shoulder back at the door. 

The party setup wasn’t terribly intense; Paige and Naomi had covered a lot of basics before she—and Bailey—arrived. It was, at Paige’s directions, light last minute cleaning, checking on doors, lights, setting up furniture, stocking extra toilet paper and ash trays and lube packets and condoms, assembling the little and pet space, printing out extra DM shift schedules and name tags and rule sheets, setting out the pens and colored ribbons in red and black for those who didn’t have one upon arrival, checking on the state of the pool, turning on low music, and as they approached the very last minute, arranging snacks, drinks, condiments, napkins and such, labels. 

At Paige’s suggestion (and Ezri’s texted approval), she put on a name tag with her name and pronouns. 

Despite a bit of running around near the end, Lalia was filled with abundant nervous energy. The party started at seven; she’d gotten there at four-thirty; at about five-thirty, Charlie had gotten home from work, distracting Paige and Naomi’s attention for a few minutes, while her and Bailey found things to do. Now it was nearing seven and there wasn’t much left.

During the party, she was to keep an eye on supply levels and tidying, and generally be available, circulating, and useful, answering questions, fetching things for the single Owner types, attending to things Paige or maybe the others pointed her attention to. If things were particularly quiet, she was welcome to hover in Ezri’s vicinity as long as it didn’t interfere with being largely available, something Ezri had agreed to. Paige and Naomi stuck a little closer to Charlie, but as the hosts were easy to recognize and known to be attending the needs of the party. Serving the house, she got a little more freedom to speak—to Paige, Naomi, and Bailey as needed, to Owner types as very practical.

People started to wander in fairly consistently; she managed to sound like she knew what she was doing—both proud of that and also feeling a bit like it was a lie; she had little experience here—she even helped a man and woman new to these parties, set them up with rule sheets, name tags if they liked, and offered a tour that she ended up handing off to Naomi at her offer.

A lot of the job seemed to be standing around anxiously; _study and patience_ was the half a quote that came to mind. 

Her heart rate picked up when Ezri arrived, though she wasn’t particularly close to the door for it. But Ezri didn’t seek her out and Bailey was poking her in the arm and saying something about putting more sodas in the cooler in the yard, which were going fast as, play not picking up yet, people gathered outside to smoke. 

After that, though, Ezri had settled in the living room and Lalia was unoccupied, so she—as Paige had put it—hovered. Jen had settled next to Ezri, Clara at her feet, and both were making small talk with the man Lalia had helped near the door. The girl who accompanied him knelt at his feet. Ezri, however, seemed to find gaps in the conversation to gaze in Lalia’s direction rather than look at either of her companions, enough so that Jen smacked her arm and said, “Would you stop being gay long enough for me to finish my sentence?” which made Ezri laugh. 

“Well, now, that’s just homophobic,” she said sarcastically. 

“You can lovingly gaze at your slave on your own damn time.” To the man they were talking to—Travis, his name had been—she said, “Sorry, she’s doing the NRE head over heels thing.” 

“With who?” the man asked with good natured curiosity, turning to try and follow where Ezri’s line of sight had been, which made Lalia blush and, barring immediately finding something to look occupied with, try to assume the waiting position Ezri had taught her, straightening her posture and lowering her head and eyes a little, hands behind her back.

“The blonde Ezri won’t quit staring at."

“You’re just jealous.” 

“You just still think you gave me this one too cheap.” She gave Clara a slight nudge with her foot. 

Clara rolled her eyes almost continuously at this exchange, though only Lalia was at the right angle to see it. She smiled, both at Ezri’s affectionate glances and the humorous exchange. 

The man’s attention turned back to Ezri, and Jen. “She doesn’t seem terribly new.” 

“Thank you,” said Ezri, which was… an interesting response—it had been an interesting comment—and if he noticed Ezri’s eyes flick to the girl at his feet who couldn’t seem to remember the position she was clearly supposed to be in and kept starting to speak, he didn’t say anything.

Maybe that was just Lalia mentally making her own judgments she knew weren’t fair but couldn’t help. As the conversation shifted to other subjects, she did another sweep of areas where checking on supply levels was quick and nonintrusive, found nothing worth noting, wiped off a few largely fine surfaces where crumbs of food and drops of drinks had collected, and a woman in the garage dungeon asked if Lalia could fetch her a soda, which she did.

At one point, Charlie asked if she was having fun or working hard, to which she said, “Both, sir?” with a slight question, which he seemed to like. He introduced her to a few people who were still in the backyard as play started up inside, lighting a cigar and looking out at the pool, which had only attracted a few people to it so far—it had seemed more popular towards the end of the night last time. He swept the hand that didn’t hold the cigar over his prickly graying hair and told her to tell Ezri they should all get lunch sometime, so they could chat longer than he could distract her from a bustling party. She agreed. 

Once he wandered off, she did another sweep of the house, straightened the piles of ribbons and papers by the door, helped someone find the bathroom. Paige directed her to a clean set of mattress protectors and sheets and told her to replace the linens on the bed available for use upstairs, the room for which had been closed on her last sweep. She’d find a hamper in the room’s closet. Lalia did, and Paige came by as she was finishing to approve of her bedmaking. 

After that, it was quiet for a bit, and she hovered near where Ezri was, in the garage. She was talking to Travis, who sat with the girl nearby on the floor, whose name she finally caught—Sadie. She thought she’d seen them doing a quick scene earlier. 

Lalia scanned the crowd, trying to get a feel for who showed up. Many were familiar faces from last time. A fairly diverse crowd, a decent amount of leatherfolk. Ages were hard to get a read on. She was definitely one of the youngest there. Paige and Naomi were both somewhere in their late twenties. Jen was forty, Clara thirty-seven. Bailey was twenty-eight. Charlie had mentioned a recent enough sounding fiftieth birthday party. 

Ezri watched Lalia’s eyes dart over the group in the dungeon and had scarcely said her name when the girl materialized at her side. “Have you met Travis and Sadie?” she asked. 

“Briefly, ma’am.” 

“She got us set up near the door,” said Travis. He was bald, and had a long, pale, slender face with light stubble and wore dressy black. Sadie was also pale, in dressy black, but more heavyset and had long brown hair. Travis was perhaps in his mid or early thirties, Sadie maybe a few years younger. 

“You may go get me water,” Ezri said to Lalia, and, “Anything for you, Travis?” 

“I’d love another can of root beer if you’re going,” he said. 

“Root beer and water, then,” Ezri said to Lalia. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Quick but careful curtsy and she left, wondering at Ezri’s offer to Travis seeing as he had his own slave present, retrieved both drinks, grabbed some cocktail napkins while she was at it, and returned. Travis took his with a thanks, and Ezri with a silent smile. 

“Stay a minute,” she said, and Lalia nodded and knelt beside her. Yet, she mostly carried on as if Lalia weren’t there. Honestly, Travis and Sadie’s curious glances were the most attention she got out of it, which was… interesting. Nothing Ezri said particularly leapt out at her. 

Sadie was still very fidgety, posture slumping, and at one point while Travis was telling a story, she interrupted, “I didn’t say that,” before she caught herself, and simply stopped. 

Travis didn’t rebuke her, but just gave her a mild look, which seemed to make him almost as uncomfortable as it did her, before continuing. 

She knew she wasn’t here for Ezri’s direct benefit, but she couldn’t tell if she was here for Sadie and Travis to observe her, or for her to observe them, or both. But someone was definitely supposed to be looking at someone. She was silent and still, pondering Sadie’s physical mannerisms, speaking with interruption, argument, and lack of title usage. Her eyes remained mostly on the floor.

Ezri dismissed her shortly without asking anything further of her, looking at her during a lull of conversation and saying, “You may go.” 

Lalia stood, curtsied, and left. Thinking it odd to return to hovering, and trying to make up for time she had done nothing in, she did another round of the house. Found a few abandoned empty soda cans or water bottles or such to dispose of, and ended up setting out the last snacks in the kitchen with Naomi; she was pleased to see that what she had brought had been popular, and arranging more trays was strangely meditative. 

The party started to wind down soon, guests rapidly finding people for farewells and heading out the door. Paige started nudging her towards end of party cleanup, so they could all get to bed at a reasonable time. Taking down furniture with Bailey that no one seemed to have further plans to use—at Paige’s surveying—and putting away the front door items that were for arrivals. 

Eventually, only Charlie and Paige and Naomi, and her and Ezri, and Bailey remained. She was a bit relieved to see the last people leave, as a bit of party drop set in, needs she wanted to see to, but also eagerness to be alone with Ezri and talk about all of it. 

She saw to a few last things with the others and overheard bits of Charlie and Ezri’s conversation. 

“Where did you say you found her?" 

“Lost at Temptation,” Ezri laughed. “Followed me home.” 

Lalia flushed, thought, _That’s not quite…_

“You seem happy,” he said. 

“I am.” 

Lalia smiled despite herself. She was happy, too. 


	9. Opportunity

In the car, after the party, going home with Ezri driving.

Lalia's post event headache was in full swing, though it did little to dampen her spirits as she told Ezri her thoughts and anecdotes. She left any real mention of their interactions during the party until the end, and prompted Ezri for thoughts first.

“I had a good night,” said Ezri, listing off some people she’d talked to, but no mention of the couple she seemed to be nearby for most of the night. “I kept an eye on you. You seemed to make yourself useful, kept your poise when you were just waiting.” She gave her a fond smile, squeezed her hand. “You’re a good girl.” Let go of her when the light turned green.

“Thank you, ma’am.” She smiled down at her hands in her lap.

“I wouldn’t have guessed it was your first time serving a party.”

Ah, there was the—subtle—mention of something she had to know Lalia had overheard. _“She doesn’t seem terribly new.”_

“Is that good?” It hadn’t occurred to her before that it might not be, but trying to find a response, it was what came out, and she wondered…

“I think so. Why?”

“It could also mean… experienced as in comfortable, confident. Maybe too much.”

“No,” said Ezri. “I mean—I understand that—but not what I meant. More like competency, or not being so nervous you were just awkward and useless.”

“Right.”

“So, what did you make of Travis and Sadie?”

Lalia laughed a little. No longer subtle. “I… it seemed like you wanted us to notice things about each other. I noticed they didn’t do very well with the protocol, but not… much else?”

“That was about all I wanted you to notice. I could’ve told you that, though. It was more for their sake.”

“I thought… it might've been.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

“It seemed… arrogant.”

“But you were right.”

“I couldn’t have known that until I said it.”

Ezri smiled. “True.”

“You offered… me—you asked… Travis…” she wasn’t sure what to call him, if he needed more of a title than that, but Ezri nodded “… if he wanted anything, when I was going to get you something. Even though Sadie was right there.”

“Yes.” She paused. “I think he’s half the problem. He wouldn’t ask her.”

“When she started talking—interrupting, arguing—he didn’t… address that. Just kind of did the _look_. And he didn’t even seem to like doing that; it seemed like that was because of the audience. Like, not like he didn’t care about the protocols, but he just didn’t want to… push it.”

“Exactly.”

“But, she clearly wasn’t… focused.”

“Hmm. I was making a small point by asking you to fetch drinks for both of us. I mostly wanted a chance for them to see you.”

“If I’d… if I’d acted like Sadie, what would you have done?”

Ezri gave her a curious look.

It did sound, once the words were out of her mouth, a lot like the trope of the FetLife message or post trying to bait someone into a roleplay who didn’t understand that punishments weren’t fun. “I mean… just… given the audience. And not being able to do the punishment not at home.”

“I daresay that in whatever alternate dimension where you would slip so far as to interrupt me to argue after breaking protocol repeatedly, I would've found a way to not wait until we got home,” she said, a bit darkly.

Lalia’s stomach flipped with the words even though it was a hypothetical.

“They’re both part of the problem,” Ezri continued; "but the most I can do for Travis is talk. But for Sadie… well, a high level training program might be something he’d sign her up for. It’s still not my main interest, but I think it’d be a good experience for you to be involved with. And… when they realize they’re incompatible anyway, we’ll have our foot in the door to sell him someone else.” She smiled.

Lalia laughed, which felt slightly wrong once she heard herself. “That’d be interesting.”

When they got home, Lalia made a late supper that they chatted over, went through the nighttime routines that were starting to become familiar. Ezri encouraged her to get some thoughts on the party written down while they were fresh. She was exhausted in the way where she didn’t have enough energy left to mind a few last tasks before bed, or rather, blanket on the floor.

Except, when she got to the bedroom to settle down, Ezri, already in bed, said, “Come here,” so Lalia curled up at her side, settled with her head on an extra pillow by Ezri's hip under a throw blanket, and Ezri stroked her hair. “How are you?” Ezri asked.

“Sleepy,” she mumbled, closing her eyes.

“You’re not too overwhelmed?”

“Hmm?”

“The practicing at parties, maybe helping train Sadie, anything we’ve done or proposed doing. It’s not too much?”

“No,” she said, words almost slurred with sleep, and then amended, “Sometimes it feels like it, for a minute. But not really.”

“Good.” She was silent for a few moments, then shut the light. “You may stay there if you want to. Or move to the foot of the bed if you don’t.” Looked at Lalia for an answer, but she was fast asleep.

In the morning, Lalia woke bleary and disoriented. There was too much sunlight in the room and she was on Ezri’s bed, alone. The bed—yes, she remembered falling asleep with Ezri there… and Ezri waking first was typical… the sunlight—it took her an extra try to read the time on the phone she fumbled for, but she had found Ezri in her office and was stumbling over apologies before she fully processed it.

It was nearly 11 AM. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her alarm that would’ve had her ready to serve breakfast at 9:30, but she could’ve sworn she’d set it correctly. She realized that bursting into Ezri’s office and rapidly throwing out words in a panic probably wasn’t her best choice, and abruptly cut off her own litany and said, “Sorry, ma’am,” quieter, slower, hanging her head. Her hands went behind her back but she couldn’t seem to calm their fidgeting.

Ezri laughed softly, stood and approached her. “Good morning to you, too, sweetheart.” She kissed her cheek. “I shut your alarm. I thought you could use the sleep.” Kissed her on the lips this time when Lalia looked up at her in realization.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean...” She gestured at Lalia’s entire demeanor.

“Sorry,” Lalia said again.

“You’re fine. You can sleep more if you like. Or start breakfast at your convenience.”

Lalia nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” She didn’t think she was getting back to sleep. Still, her morning routines seemed frazzling and she felt like she moved too slowly.

Breakfast was nice, though, since she didn’t need to run around doing things or overthinking. They talked about when they should have Charlie and his girls over, and how to approach Travis and Sadie. Or rather, Ezri shared how she planned to do the latter.

“That seems… straightforward,” said Lalia.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how that… usually goes, in network. I would’ve expected more… a bunch of negotiating, and… convincing? And them talking to each other, and you—or us—talking to them.”

Ezri shrugged. “If they needed that much convincing on some fronts, they wouldn’t be here. Or they’re just not gonna be sold on this part. And if they do too much talking to each other—that seems to be part of their problem. Communication is good. But I think if they talk about this too much, she might talk him out of it, which is a loss for us and… a bad sign for them. The negotiation… it’s a limited program; it only takes so long.”

That made sense. Lalia supposed that most of what she’d seen of the network so far was the social side, just a better organized and more exclusive version of a munch group with a tendency towards the hardcore. The business side she had seen little of, and perhaps she hadn’t realized the extent to which it was that—business—even if it was flexible and something the people involved held a passion for, and not done to just stay afloat financially. “Right,” she said.

“Are you having mixed feelings?” Ezri asked her.

“About?”

“Anything. Mostly the consent parts. You mentioned expecting more negotiating and convincing and talking.”

“No,” said Lalia, but frowned, unsure if it was true. “I mean—everyone involved is able to consent and does at some point and is looked into for issues and knows what’s up. It’s basically just… group CNC. It’s… unusual, but I don’t think it’s bad.” She felt more sure it was true when she managed to put it simply out loud.

“Basically,” said Ezri. “I think once money gets involved, a lot of people get uncomfortable. But it’s like any other service industry with a rank ladder. Someone does the serving and someone else usually makes more money off it than they do. And the compensation might not be money here, so it's hard to measure, but people are here for a reason. And in general, I think our satisfaction surveys would do better than the average honest results you’d get in, say, the hospitality industry.”

“True.”

“And every now and then, a nutjob slips through our filters—but I can tell you, there are plenty of them in the public scene, too. The ones who won’t even bother with that are usually worse.”

“Most of the five o’clock news cases aren’t from the scene.”

“Exactly. So, no holdups on that part?”

Lalia thought. “Would you ever sell me?”

“I don’t think so. If someone offered to pay me to have you do something reasonable, but worth paying for—go help them with in home training for a week or something—I’d consider. Most loans are just quid pro quo. But permanently, even while I’d have the right to—no. I think I’ll keep you all to myself. Mostly. Except when I’m a showoff.” She smiled, flicked Lalia’s hair back over her shoulder.

“Okay.” It seemed like a thorough evaluation, more soothing than a knee jerk denial. She was okay with that. That was what had been implied thus far. She might have even been okay with it if Ezri had said _maybe one day,_ something she’d had to think about along with the Ownership contract, which wouldn’t strictly hold Ezri to not selling her.

“Or, if you decided to not sign the Ownership contract—it would be an option, if you wanted to stay in network with someone else.” Ezri added it hesitantly, but it was something she’d promised before.

Lalia, once already, feeling brave, had pointed out, _I’d sign it now if you asked,_ when Ezri had projected something similarly uncertain _._ Which had made Ezri smile, but say she wanted to give Lalia some time and experience to think about it, and pointed out that their current arrangement was as much about training as it was mutual consideration. “I like you keeping me all to yourself,” Lalia said now, trying to be reassuring, and oddly reassured herself by the idea she wasn’t the only one invested to the point of worry.

“Good.”

As breakfast wrapped up, Ezri told her that after she cleaned up breakfast, she should reach out to Paige about arranging that social engagement—she tended to do the house’s scheduling—and to Sadie about her and Travis coming by to talk—given the network assumption of reaching out to the s-type for secretarial matters. And do an event debrief for the party.

Lalia cleaned up breakfast and messaged Paige, who seemed to have heard about the idea and quickly proposed Friday evening, which fit on the calendar, so Lalia put it in and sent Ezri a notification of it; her message to Sadie was a little more formal and introductory, and she got told to message Travis, which she did, and he proposed Tuesday at four, which also fit, and she again noted it and sent Ezri the memo.

While she waited on messages back, she looked over Ezri’s event debrief suggestions again, and her notes from the night before, and started trying to make sense of her thoughts.

She now wished she’d taken notes at that planning meeting, even when not critical to get through the event. She wrote down that she should take those notes in the future while trying to recreate what they would’ve been.

As far as feedback from attendees, she noted the comments from Travis and Ezri, and Paige and Charlie (which mostly came down to thanks more than feedback; she made a note to ask later if there was a good time).

Basics—she sent another message to Paige asking for a guest list, and Paige sent it back quickly. Lalia printed and attached it. She honestly still couldn’t match most of the names to faces, and this might be more useful later than it was now. She underlined those she recognized and noted what it meant.

Date and time, address, food and drink and setup notes. The questions list did not reveal much left of interest.

She realized she still somewhat had Paige on the line, and asked about feedback, the planning meeting notes, and maybe any general advice on a debrief. Then added an apology for too many questions.

Paige reassured her it was fine, and sent a sparse outline she had used for the first meeting, not much in the way of feedback, and said she tried to add some of how she had felt before, during, and after the event into a debrief for future reference—physically, mentally. Patterns turned up. And she had to go, but if they got the chance, she’d talk her ear off about all of it on Friday.

Lalia thanked her and added what she’d suggested. Put down notes next to a few names as she remembered things, and decided she wasn’t going to get much more out of this.

Ezri looked over the debrief later without much comment, Lalia kneeling next to her. “Was there anything else I should add?” Lalia asked, and, more hesitantly, “… Did anyone else have any... feedback?"

Ezri laughed for several moments at the anxious but prideful curiosity, before she collected herself enough to pet Lalia’s hair and say, “Oh, they’re all very enamored.”

That was an interesting word choice. “How so?”

“You were a very lucky find, sweetheart.” She kissed her forehead.

“And that’s… enamoring?”

“Oh, I got several proposals that had to do with even a bit more than _enamoring._ ”

Lalia flushed. “You have?” It came out embarrassed, curious, surprised.

“Hmm. Yes. But I didn’t take anyone up on it yet. It’d be fun. But I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Lalia frowned. She didn’t like the idea that there was this thing she could do that Ezri would hold back on for her sake. She liked the idea that she was hard to overwhelm, though in some senses it was far from true. “I could do it,” she said.

Ezri examined her. “I’ll consider.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, not sure what else to say, not sure for what—for the potential faith in her, maybe.

On Tuesday morning, lingering at breakfast, Ezri laid out her plans for Travis and Sadie’s visit.

“I haven’t directly started negotiating,” she said of her messages with Travis. “But I’ve talked about how these training programs usually work, and basically offered it. He’s considering. Tonight is for decisions and negotiating.” She looked at Lalia. “And your job, my darling girl,” she smiled, “is to get the house in order, handle dinner, play host, and be my beloved shining example.” She tapped her nose.

“How—how do I do that? The last one. Specifically.”

Ezri’s hand slipped into her hair and pulled her to the floor. Lalia gasped and tangled in the chair she’d been in for a moment before finding balance and, automatically, her usual kneeling position. “Like that,” said Ezri, smiling. “Instinct. Be yourself.” She let go of her hair, gave her a sharp pat on the cheek. “Up.”

Lalia stood on slightly shaky legs, but smiled. Ezri’s hand slipped up her skirt, into her underwear, and she muttered, “Oh, did you like that?” in that teasing tone.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Arousal wasn’t the pleasant feeling she had assigned to it, but it seemed her body was happy to process it that way, which only got more true at Ezri’s casually possessive touch.

Something in her was still getting used to the idea that Ezri was entitled to touch her however she liked, whenever she liked, wherever she liked, for any reason, limited more by public decency laws than Lalia’s desires. Could tell anyone else the same. That at a time soon enough, she would have no agreed upon way to stop it even if she wanted to in the moment. In general, she knew what she wanted was to say yes, to always say yes—and if she couldn’t make herself say it, she wanted Ezri to make her. An idea that made her both nervous and, apparently, aroused.

“Slut,” Ezri laughed in her ear, and withdrew her touch abruptly. “Besides that—” it took a moment for Lalia to remember what that referred to “—we’ll go for ‘speak when spoken to’ and titles always required. If you need my attention, prompt nonverbally. And, if you’re not doing something or kneeling next to me, I’ll have you in the waiting position—I’ll pick a spot in each room for you. Come with me.”

With a bit of experimentation and trial and error, placing her somewhere and pacing around the room and sitting in different places, Ezri selected a spot in every room. “I know we won’t need them all tonight,” she said. “But while we’re doing it. I had places for trainees before, but I've done some rearranging since." 

Lalia wrote down the places and Ezri’s other notes for the night.

“I’ll have you here during dinner,” Ezri said of the spot in the dining room. “You can make yourself whatever you can eat quickly in the kitchen or have a late lunch before, whatever works.” She’d been pondering options before but seemed to have confirmed.

Concluding back in the kitchen, she quizzed, “So if we’re in the living room, and you’re not supposed to be somewhere else, where do you go?”

“In the waiting position, at the wall just to the right of the doorway, making no noise and pretending that I don’t exist.”

Ezri laughed. “Good girl. Five points to Ravenclaw.” She gave her a swift kiss on the lips. “Any questions?”

“Should I add the root beer Travis liked at the party to the grocery order?”

“Great idea. Yes.”

Lalia circled the idea in her notes.

“Anything else?”

“What should I plan on Sadie eating?”

“Hmm. The same as Travis and I are having, just in case. I’ll confirm but I won’t count on a response before the grocery order. Anything else?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Let me know if you think of anything. Be ready for them to walk in the door by three and find me then.”

Lalia realized she’d been silent in her curiosity when Ezri gave her a prompting look. “… Yes, ma’am.” She'd almost asked why, figured she’d asked enough questions, and held her tongue. She hoped she could get everything done in time.

“Good girl.” Ezri kissed her again, longer, deeper, slower, one hand tugging at her hair, the other at her throat, then smiled and gave her one more peck on the lips and left her to it.

Lalia prepared what was needed in the house, did her usual tasks, placed and brought in the grocery order, went over her notes frantically in between tasks to commit the protocol bits to memory.

When she was finished, it was nearly three. Unable to help herself, she evaluated her rendition of the anticipated positions in the full length mirror that was her office closet door. The kneeling one was familiar, the waiting one simple, even her curtsies were getting better—but she wanted to see them one more time before tonight.

Ezri found her doing that when it was still just shy of three. Lalia jumped when she spotted Ezri in the mirror, whirling to face her, blushing.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” said Ezri, grinning. “Go on.” At Lalia’s perplexed expression, she added, “Let’s see the waiting position. In the spot for this room.”

Ezri had noted that she couldn’t think of why they would need a spot for Lalia’s office when she had decided it anyway, but it seemed useful enough now as Lalia found it, recalling it correctly, and assumed the position noted. Ezri’s eyes ran over her. “Come over here.” To where she was in the middle of the room. Lalia went to her. “Curtsy.” Lalia did. “Keep your back straighter. Try again.” Lalia tried again. “Kneel.” Lalia did. Ezri examined the position but said simply, “Up.” Lalia stood, careful to do so with some grace. “Good girl. Come with me.”

Lalia followed her and Ezri led the way to the living room. Lalia’s eyes wandered from her, distracted by the paddle sitting on the mantel, the unlit candle sitting there before set on top of it, the same cane and books nearby. She had done a sweep of the room recently enough to know it was freshly placed there, though it wasn’t particularly eye catching otherwise. Ezri noticed her noticing the paddle. “Come here.” She gestured to the floor at her feet.

Lalia knelt there. Something in this setup made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t Ezri’s normal manner of play, nor did this seem like the ideal time for play, not that it was up to her. The paddle, however, was not Ezri’s chosen implement for discipline. She hadn’t seen it before, though, when making the dungeon manual or doing anything else, or so she thought. For a moment, she wondered if it was here to point out to her it had been missed—but then why now, when Ezri had already approved the manual? Maybe it _had_ been here when she swept the room earlier and Ezri, checking her work, had spotted it. She was still running through scenarios mentally when Ezri asked, “Have you heard of preventative discipline?”

Relief flooded her. Then nerves of a different sort. She nodded, then whispered, “Yes, ma’am.” She had seen different, but similar, definitions scattered throughout her research, matched to that phrase or something close. Given the day’s plans, she could guess Ezri’s closest definition here.

“Then you know it’s not a punishment. It’s just… a reminder, before a situation where obedience might be difficult or particularly important. It’s not really for pleasure, but it’s not meant to be anything terrible.”

Lalia nodded slowly. That was what she’d guessed.

“I had enough mixed feelings about it to not discuss it sooner. On the one hand, I don’t want it to ever be necessary. I should never have to rely on discipline to get you to behave, preventative or reactive. I have the punishment system in place more… for the sake of a clearly defined fresh slate and maybe catharsis, which this wouldn’t do.”

Ezri paused; Lalia nodded again, agreeing.

“But I’d had it flagged to come back to once I saw how you handled certain things. When you asked about misbehaving at events, my mind went back to it, and I thought about how nervous and worked up you got yourself before some occasions. And even not done to the point of catharsis—I think preventative discipline might be something that helps you clear your head. Which, yes, makes you perform better, but also lets you enjoy events more, and leaves a reminder during.”

Pause, nod.

“My idea is that we try it out with the same procedure as regular discipline. Separated by choice of implement, but this would be used only for preventative discipline and be the only thing used for it, like the cane on the mantel is for regular discipline. I would do it either when I thought it was good idea before an event or whatnot, or if you requested it for the same. What do you think?”

Lalia’s nerves had somewhat faded as Ezri’s explanation softened the idea a bit. She understood the mixed feelings, and she understood how Ezri had come to think it was a good idea anyway. She was right that such things often quieted Lalia’s mind, which needed quieting especially on these sorts of days. “I agree,” she murmured. “Not because it’s necessary, but as a… to clear my head.”

“Good,” said Ezri. “Go fetch the paddle and wait in my office presenting it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She offered a quick curtsy—back straight—and retrieved the paddle, went to Ezri’s office, closed the door, and knelt where she had last time, for the discipline walkthrough, the paddle on her upturned palms. She wasn’t sure which hand to place the handle in and went with her left, Ezri’s right when she came in, as Ezri was right handed.

Ezri entered shortly and held out her hand. Lalia offered the paddle, holding it up in both hands. Her fingers brushed Ezri’s and Ezri took it from her. “Up.”

She stood. Now she felt nervous again, though it was mild, directed almost purely at the anticipation of pain.

“Over the desk.”

She went, bent over the desk as she had last time, grabbing the other side of it, arms over her head. Ezri flipped her skirt up, pulled her underwear down her thighs. “You will stay still and speak when spoken to,” she reminded her.

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered, body tensing.

“Ready?”

She took in a breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri tapped her with the paddle a few times, then brought it down much harder. She jumped, breath hitching. The strikes didn’t come any lighter after that, and she just managed to hear Ezri over the stinging cracks of the paddle.

“You,” Ezri said, not stopping, “are a very good girl, and I know you’ve been working very hard to serve well with company and at events.”

The words, nice as they were to hear, didn’t soften the strokes, and they were getting hard to bear quickly; she whimpered and breathed shakily as she tried not to squirm at the building burn. Ezri gave her a moment of verbal silence to just feel it in.

“You've been of very good service and pleased me very much and I expect you to continue to do so.”

Several sharp strokes in otherwise silence; she cried out, writhed a little. Ezri’s other hand pressed gently at her lower back. The words were ones she longed to hear, but it was hard to focus on them.

“I’m very proud of you and I love you very much.”

A few that seemed somehow harder than the rest. Then she stopped.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

Lalia did; she wasn’t crying, but her breaths came shallow, shaky, a few hiccups that in time would turn to sobs. She tried for several slow, deep breaths.

“Good girl,” Ezri murmured. “Six more. You're going to count each one, thank me, and ask me for another. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The first stroke came. Lalia was very aware of her body tensing up again. “One; thank you, ma’am,” she said. “Please may I have another?”

After the third, it was getting too hard to count steadily, silent moments of breathing required. But they were almost done.

“Six; thank you, ma’am. Please may I have another?”

“You may not.” Ezri set the paddle on the desk and rubbed her back. “You may stay there and collect yourself for a moment if you’d like.”

Lalia nodded against the desk but didn’t manage an answer. She felt floaty, in a pleasantly almost sleepy way, and found that her worries had, in fact, quieted. As her body relaxed as the pain stopped coming, fading to a prickling soreness, it stayed that way. Ezri caressed her and whispered praise, fixed her clothes as she shifted to help. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said one more time.

“You’re welcome.” She could hear Ezri’s smile. When she shifted again, Ezri stopped touching her and let her up, embraced her tightly, kissed the side of her head, and said, “Now, you’re going to go put the paddle back on the mantel where it was, and try to not wind yourself back up before Travis and Sadie get here. You should braid your hair, too,” she said, drawing back. “One, over your shoulder, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You may go.”

Lalia curtsied and took the paddle and placed it back on the mantel, near the cane, smiled at the sight. While she never wanted to see the cane in use, and had more than a few reservations about the paddle, the heat lingering in her skin—it was a reminder she had the structure and so many other things that she had always wanted, always craved.

So she smiled.


	10. Pushing Limits

The house was spotless; Lalia's hair was braided; Travis had confirmed Sadie would eat the same as him and Ezri, and Lalia was trying to not pace in front of the door when the doorbell rang.

She opened it quickly; she turned back as Ezri approach down the stairs behind her; she had traded her usual soft open flannels for a more proper button down, black.

“Hey, got the right place!” said Travis, triumphant. His short sleeves today showed off tattoos running up his arms. “Good to see you again.”

“Hi.” Sadie offered a wave from just behind him as they stepped in.

“Welcome,” said Ezri, taking over the interaction before Lalia had to figure out responding to both of them; she retreated to the spot for the entryway. “Glad you found us all right.”

“Only took the one wrong turn. ‘Recalculating, recalculating.’ Siri acted like I was off by a few miles.”

“Siri’s a brat,” said Ezri.

“Alexa’s worse.”

“Oh, I avoided her altogether.”

“I would too if I had other speakers, maybe. And the intercom’s nice. I can call this one from wherever.” He ruffled Sadie’s hair.

“Of course. Either of you need anything? Water? Coffee? Root beer?” Slight amused smile.

“Man, root beer would be great.”

“Water, please,” said Sadie.

“Lalia thought to get the root beer in case you wanted it. —You may set those in the living room. Coffee for me,” she said to Lalia.

“Yes, ma’am.” Quick curtsy and she left.

“Tour?” Ezri asked Travis.

“Please.”

Lalia barely heard the exchange as she set about fetching the drinks and setting them in the living room. Unsure, she placed a cold can of root beer next to a chilled glass and a small bowl of ice next to it; the water she placed right in a glass and set on the other side of the ice.

She waited at the designated spot in the living room until they returned from the tour, curious but trying to keep it in check.

Ezri was talking about the dungeon manual project when they returned, settling onto couches, including Sadie. At Ezri’s silent beckon, Lalia went and knelt next to her.

Ezri made small talk about how Travis was finding the network so far, the scene, kink in general—including Sadie only when it would’ve been clearly purposefully obtuse not to. She didn’t prompt Lalia and neither did they.

Sadie, seeming nervous, talked about how training interested her on the protocol more than service side. Light service was a part of being a pleasing companion—something she viewed as more her realm—but she primarily liked being the pretty thing hanging on someone’s arm, to be shown off and demurely charming. She wanted to be present and included and a part of things—mingling politely at a formal dinner more than the silent servant off to the side until there was something useful to do. Personal service was an interest—drawing a bath, giving a massage—not scrubbing tiles alone.

Lalia understood the occasional urge towards that close quarters service—if she was poorly practiced in that area so far—but she was all right with it being a less frequent activity.

Sadie said she didn’t want to be a brat but had trouble maintaining protocol based on a lack of interaction—her mind wandered, not in headspace, and it wasn’t a primary interest. And she needed time—not all the time, but some—to be playful.

Interesting. Lalia liked the focus that those protocol types required. That was what gave her that headspace. Sadie’s definition of playful was a level in Ezri’s _watch it_ zone—not bratty yet, but to be used sparingly. Amusing for one line. Pushing it at two if it wasn’t reciprocated.

Travis, meanwhile, seemed more interested in the silent servant arena—though he was trying to not be contrary about it.

They seemed to think their visions were a lot more compatible than they seemed to Lalia.

Ezri noted subtly that today, Sadie’s version had won out—though Travis seemed genuinely amenable to that, to be able to discuss.

Ezri barely paused to dismiss Lalia to making dinner.

“Yes, ma’am.” She stood, curtsied, and left, rubbing circulation back into her legs once she was alone.

She had made the recipes for tonight enough to be confident in them, or maybe it was the preventative discipline that let her feel calm, but either way, she felt less anxious than expected as she started the food.

The table had just been set when she went to the living room and slipped back into the designated spot silently. In a few moments, Ezri looked at her. “Dinner?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

Ezri led the way to the dining room; she, Travis, and Sadie settled at the table and ate and Lalia found the place Ezri had designated.

Ezri seemed in a pleasant mood and asked Travis, “Speaking of which, culinary services training—I know there’s a section in the checklist you’ll get—but what are your big picture thoughts?”

Lalia took the specific question and mention of the desired training checklist as a sign all was going well.

“I want her to learn how to make this chicken,” said Travis, which made Ezri smile, and Lalia, too, though she tried to keep it contained.

“I agree,” said Sadie, though her words came out on more of a nervous laugh than they had before.

“I’m sure Lalia will be happy to share,” said Ezri, which was one of the only direct mentions of her that Lalia had heard—but it didn’t invite a response.

“Other than that—it’s a big thing for me. Cooking, table service, tray service, bar service. Any of it,” said Travis.

“In what way? Practical? Special meaning? Good for events?”

“Well, all that’s a part of it. I think it’s like—it’s a need. I have to eat—so why not make it good? It’s taking the basic practical and making it special.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” Ezri had notes going, and jotted that down. “So, needs made into something special.”

“Yeah. I mean, like—I don’t—I’m not super into creating elaborate fantasy scenarios to make something sound like a requirement when it’s not, right? Some people do that with like, I dunno, the funishment stuff. They make up whole scenarios to justify something. But like, the cooking or cleaning or personal service—it is actually required, so why not make that a nice service? It’s simpler.”

“Right.”

The conversation was interesting to listen to even if she couldn’t participate in it.

Ezri spoke to her directly only to send her to bring drink refills and dessert, and later to tell her to clear the table and clean up, all answered with the, “Yes, ma’am,” and curtsy.

The conversation had faded to small talk in the entry by the time she returned; Travis and Sadie left shortly. Ezri said she’d see them soon, which sounded promising.

The door closed behind them, Ezri said, “I think this’ll be good. We’ll have Sadie here for about three weeks starting Monday. You should message Travis a thanks and ask for his email and then send him a copy of the in network training papers that I shared with you. And make sense of these into the writeup format I shared, and share that with both of us.” She handed Lalia the notes she had going. “And then send me his filled out papers and tell him you did so. And do an event debrief for that dinner in the morning. All of that is on the first page there.” She nodded at the notes.

Lalia took a second to process all of that, with the mental conclusion of _look at the papers._ “Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri smiled at her. “I love you,” she said, and kissed her. “You’re a very good girl.” Another lingering kiss. “And you did very well.” One more kiss. She fingered Lalia’s braid. “And you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lalia, unsure what to do with the rush of affection, said, “Thank you, ma’am,” and avoided her gaze self consciously, but smiling. “I love you, too.”

“You should get started on that.” Ezri nodded at the papers. “I’ll be in my office if you wanna come and be close by.” She left.

Lalia evaluated the state of the downstairs to determine if she would need to come back—made sure she didn’t, handling some blinds and lights—and then went upstairs, retrieved her laptop and found Ezri in her office, knelt nearby and started on Ezri’s list, grateful for the chance to not be standing.

First, _message Travis a thank you note and ask for his email._ That was quick enough.

The second thing to do before a response was to type up the notes, which was also not terribly hard, but a bit tedious and took longer. It did, however, mean getting to read Ezri’s notes, which were interesting. Things for her to potentially do, ask, things for Lalia to potentially do, current observations, things said, goals. She noted theory to teach, the usefulness of mindfulness training that might come from Lalia, a potential reading list, maybe having Sadie serve the house at the party they still had upcoming, rather than simply releasing her to Travis during, unless he objected. She shared the writeup with Ezri, still waiting on Travis.

That was all for the night, then. Ezri dismissed her when she asked somewhat sleepily, and she ran through her other evening routines, and short otherwise of only turning off the lights, sought Ezri’s attention for the last check in when Ezri got into the bed. “Come up here.”

Lalia did, settling where Ezri gestured at the foot of the bed, draping a throw over her and tucking an extra pillow under her head.

“Did you have anything to talk about?”

“Not really,” said Lalia.

“Sleep, then. I’ll be awake for a bit.”

Lalia hummed contentedly and closed her eyes. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said after a few moments.

“You’re welcome.” She heard the smile, but couldn’t get her eyes open again to see it.

Ezri watched her drift off fondly, in glances up from her book, before she finally shut the light and drifted, herself.

The morning found Ezri listless while Lalia was still fast asleep. She didn’t have any need to get up, though, and was content to catch up on her phone, planning for the day, week, checking some financials, sending a heart emoji and a _love you, miss you,_ to the rarely used group chat with her parents and brother and sister, in response to a picture of said parents in their newly renovated kitchen.

 _We love you! Look at Ezria checking her phone!_ her mother texted as Lalia stirred at her feet.

She messaged back. _I check my phone. Just not promptly._

Lalia looked up at her curiously, all sleepy blue eyes and mussed hair.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” _Especially not,_ she thought, _when I’m distracted._ She set the phone aside and beckoned her closer, up the bed.

Lalia slumped against her, head on the arm wrapped around her, nuzzled her shoulder. “Good morning, ma’am.”

Ezri kissed her forehead. “Sleep well?”

“Hmm.”

They were quiet for a minute; Lalia traced patterns on Ezri’s side with her fingers, an arm draped over her waist; Ezri petted her hair, her back. “Mine,” she said, and kissed her nose.

“Yours.” Lalia kissed her shoulder.

They stayed like that until getting up seemed more pressing, the bed too warm, food too tempting.

It wasn’t until after morning routines—making the bed, breakfast and cleanup, all the rest—that Lalia went back to the list from the night before, checking for a response from Travis—yes, very recently. She responded to the email address sent, with a copy of the files specified.

After that, the event debrief. It was a bit simpler than the last one, and all in all, didn’t take very long. Not long enough to reasonably get another email from Travis, so she set about some chores in the house, restocking a few items where needed and starting one sorted load of laundry.

Ezri found her in the laundry room and asked about that task list, and back in her office, Lalia showed her the messages and email and attachments, and the event debrief. “Maybe send a message saying you sent the email, in case,” she said. “Otherwise, it’s good.” She kissed her cheek. “Also, I wanted to tell you to read these.” She held out the book she’d been holding that hadn’t particularly caught Lalia’s eye, which she now realized was actually two books, as Ezri set them on her desk. (Hers? It had been here when she got here, when this was a guest office, and Ezri offered to leave or move anything in it as it seemed useful.)

Now she read the book titles. One was on being a slave with what looked like a training emphasis; one was on training majordomos. Ezri tapped the second one. “I was surprised you hadn’t picked this one up yet,” she said.

It didn’t look terribly familiar. “It was in the dungeon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I must’ve missed it. I would’ve.”

“The other looks generic enough I wasn’t surprised you didn’t go for it first. Neither is exactly my theory, but I approve of both. And—” she traced the same symbol printed on a corner of both covers “—they’re both network. So, these are privately distributed.”

“Ah.” She’d seen a few more books than these in the dungeon with the same symbol, on the cover and on the spine. If she’d realized that, she probably would’ve picked them both up sooner.

“I don’t think you’ll run into training anyone who’s gonna go be a majordomo elsewhere that often, but it’d be interesting. But the book might give you some… ideas? From the other side of that equation.”

Lalia tilted her head. “That would be interesting, one day. But—right, it looks good.” She’d flipped the book over and scanned the back; the blurb didn’t say _network_ but it definitely held some firm beliefs that would’ve struck her outside of it.

“There’s really not that much about _being_ a majordomo. This one’s a rare type as it is. Maybe you’ll have to write one.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, you should read that one before Sadie gets here. The other, next Monday. You don’t have to do a writeup or anything. But if you do take notes, I’d be interested.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure I will.”

“Good girl.” Ezri kissed her and left.

Lalia messaged Travis about the email and wrote down the book tasks, went outside when the landscaper texted her and agreed to inform Ezri he’d be out of town next week, did.

She got sucked into starting on the majordomo training book after skimming through the table of contents. She read, took notes, and couldn’t help keeping an eye on her email, until it was time to rotate the laundry.

When she got back from that, Travis had answered. She replied to Travis, forwarded it to Ezri, checking that all seemed in order. No big surprises, but the intrigue of the desired training checklist and such. Ezri would be keeping an eye on the financial side—due to amounts, training contracts were often paid in installments, with a more vague, separate contract written in vanilla terms that could actually be taken to court if need be.

The book was good, and she read until it was time to finish that load of laundry. It left her mind spinning a little with ideas and scenarios.

On Friday, Charlie and Paige and Naomi arrived. The protocol for that gathering was much looser, just their everyday, since the goal was for them and Lalia to actually get to know each other—especially Charlie, whom she’d interacted with the least.

“—Ah, well, y’know,” he said to Lalia’s question of his general journey into the scene; “I did the whole marriage, have a kid, vanilla, white picket fence thing till I was already thirty-eight. Then the son was all grown—had ‘im young—and I’d been divorced, what, three years then, and I’d gone out a little—but I think after that was when I really got going. I knew; I’d been shoving it all down. Spent another long time—seven years—God—messing around, getting into the network, hosting, putting myself out there. Met my match one day and didn’t look back.” Naomi. "But we always wanted something else, right. Someone that balanced us out. ’Nother year and a half or so—and we got it.” Paige.

And as nice as talking to Charlie was, it was Paige, later, under the guise of helping her clean up dinner (which she did), who was the most interesting. As promised, she talked about being a majordomo at events, with the constant caveat of knowing doing it for weeks to train people wasn’t the same. Still, she was closer to it than Lalia, at this point, something she wasn’t unaware of.

Lalia mentioned the majordomo training book to her; she’d already finished both of Ezri’s reading choices.

“Oh, good,” said Paige. “I like that one. Not as much my niche as yours—but, I’ve read it a few times. I could send you other books you might like, if you want.”

“Please,” said Lalia.

“I’ll go through my lists when I get home.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Some of them are network, some aren’t. Some aren’t even kink. But I know I’ve got some to recommend. And if you can’t find them, I probably have it or I can probably find you a copy. And I know Ezri’s got a library going.”

“Great. I know I’ve—been reading.”

“It’s a place to start,” shrugged Paige. “How is everything else going? Training?”

“Fine,” said Lalia. “I mean—it’s—it feels great. I didn’t want to be like, ‘Wow, I’m _doing_ so great,’ but I didn’t mean—it was feeling ‘just’ fine.”

Paige laughed. “I get it.”

“It’s a lot of little stuff, really. And opportunities for practicing at events and all. And then on Monday I guess I’ll get to start trying—a training version.”

They’d already talked about Sadie coming on Monday as a group, fairly vaguely.

“How are you feeling about that?”

“Nervous.” She laughed. “But that’s just what I do.”

“About?”

“Like, that I’ll screw it up. Or that… I’ll freeze. Caught in the middle.”

“You’re a bottom who wants to please everyone and you might have to make a trainee unhappy to make your Owner happy.”

Lalia laughed again. “That. And everything else.”

“Yeah,” Paige smiled, and shrugged. “It’s a thing. It can be hard.”

“It’s just—I know so much of what she wants out of this is to not have another trainer’s opinions in the way, even though she wants someone to do the parts she’s less interested in,” said Lalia. “And I can do those parts—I’m pretty sure—so what I worry about is… not being able to keep those opinions out of it. Like, if she tells me to do something I don’t like, and we’re alone, okay. I don’t know how much we’ve pushed that yet. I mean, yeah—maybe a chore I’m not super into, or sex when I’m tired, or something kinda embarrassing, but nothing tragic. But what if it’s to do something to, with, another person, that neither of us like? Or that they don’t like, and I have to make them?” Paige was very good at coaxing these feelings out of her, she realized.

“I get it,” said Paige. “Even for us—just a poly triad—it’s weird, sometimes, when you get in the middle of them... inflicting something unwanted. Like, sometime’s Master’s beating Naomi senseless or whatever, and she likes it, but she’ll be doing the whole squirming and thrashing thing like she doesn’t, or she’s just a bit past where she really likes it, and he’ll tell me to hold her down—and it’s just for fun, right? He could tell her to go get some rope and she’d run off and do it, so it’s just for effect. But even then it’s still weird. Like, what if she gets pissed at me? Better than disobeying, but it’s not great, either.”

“Exactly,” said Lalia. “And I—I’ve never been in that situation. I don’t know what I do, for real, when I really, really… don’t want to obey. I know in the future it won’t matter in the end; I still have… limits and safewords and all, right now. Not that I want to use them, but if I panicked—and it wouldn’t be good to need force in the moment, anyway. I can guess—I can hope for—what I would do. I know I don’t want the answer to be—not do it. But in the moment...”

Paige looked thoughtful. “You could test it.”

“I—what?”

“Well, ask Ezri to put you there. To put you in that situation. Just the two of you. To see what you do before you have the pressure of someone else there. Press at a limit. Or push past a safeword. While you have them to measure by. And see.”

“That… makes sense.” And it did. It was a very strange thing to ask for, but she understood what Paige meant entirely, and it wasn’t really outside of the scope of things Ezri had talked about trying. “Thanks.”

When Paige, Charlie, and Naomi had left, her and Ezri talked lightly, but Lalia did not bring up her question yet. She wanted to think, sleep on it. Ezri seemed to suspect there was something going on in her mind, but didn’t press yet. Paige sent her the recommendations. She slept and had strange dreams.

After breakfast, she found Ezri and asked, “Do you… have a minute?”

“Of course.” Ezri beckoned her into the room, her office. Lalia knelt next to her. “What’s up?”

Lalia recounted her concerns, her conversation with Paige, the idea, her reservations.

Ezri was mostly quiet, nodding, until Lalia trailed off. “Well,” she said, “we could certainly do something like that. I take it you want to do it before Sadie gets here, alone?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll think of an idea. I would expect to do it after dinner tonight.”

 _Tonight!_ Then again, Sadie would be there the morning after tomorrow; what had she expected? “Thank you, ma’am,” she said, soft and nervous.

Ezri kissed her forehead. “Anything else?”

Lalia shook her head.

At dinner, Ezri noted she was quiet, and after, said, “Clean up as normal, and then find me in the bedroom.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lalia did so, trying to collect herself before she went to find Ezri. “Come over here.”

She approached Ezri from where she’d been lingering in the doorway, knelt at her feet at her gesture. Ezri tapped her under the chin and Lalia looked up at her. “This is what we’re going to do,” Ezri said. “We’re gonna do a pretty normal impact scene—but we’re gonna go until you safeword, and then we’re gonna keep going.”

Lalia swallowed and nodded. She’d never used a safeword before. She had never been with someone willing to push her that far. It was something she’d always craved exploring. But of course, being told so plainly that she was going to get to that breaking point—and then further—was nerve wracking.

“I’m not gonna restrain you, so your reaction won’t be limited by that. I’ll tell you to try to not interfere.”

Lalia nodded. Her mouth was too dry to swallow now.

“Up.”

She stood.

“Undress.”

Lalia did, with trembling hands. Set her clothes in a pile to the side. Ezri guided her into a position over the end of the bed and picked up a flogger.

And at first, as promised—it was like any other impact scene. A swift but effective warmup. Building, stinging pain; she squirmed but tried to restrain herself from going too far—Ezri nudged her back into place a few times, said, “Stop kicking,” and Lalia complied with a whimper. The warmup flogger and meaner whips, later, fell from her back to her thighs. When it was becoming too much, too much pain too fast, she lost control of her breaths and they became sobs, soon tears flowing freely and shoulders shaking as it didn’t let up.

“Move your arm back out of the way.”

Lalia had barely been aware of flailing it behind her; she moved it hesitantly, because it was the only thing that had afforded her a break. But she kept it out of the way. Her body seemed done fighting in a minute; the tears and gasps and sobs and wails were her only release of a reaction. She didn't respond to individual strokes anymore, consistent crying until she ran out of air and she had to find more, almost wheezing.

“How are you doing?”

Lalia barely understood the words as the whip stopped coming and her sobs faded enough to hear Ezri’s voice, the question’s softness and the gentle tracing of her spine a sharp contrast to the pain and tears. Once she knew what the question meant, she didn’t know how to answer. Words escaped her.

“Number?” Ezri tried.

 _Ten._ The number occurred to her first, a whimper on her lips, but she wasn’t sure if it was true. Ten was red. Which wouldn’t be treated as such right now anyway. Ten meant she wasn’t willing to continue, was at her limits and that something had to give. That didn’t feel true. She didn’t want to continue, hadn’t wanted to for a while—but she didn’t need it to stop. She might struggle away from the pain, but she wouldn’t run.

She wasn’t going to get injured or psychologically break or anything. Red felt like it meant need _—_ and as much as she’d read about safewording at any time for any reason, she knew that was not what they were going for here. If she was eventually to not say no at all, to say no now felt like it needed to mean she would break or run or be seriously hurt. They were here to find out what happened after ten.

And if she couldn’t wrap her head around ten—

“Nine and a half,” she whispered. “Ma’am.”

Ezri was unconvinced. She was pretty certain, watching the girl’s state, and having an idea of how she normally reacted to pain, that she had hit ten, that there wasn’t anything much left that would make that difference, but that some form of pride or desperate commitment to obedience was keeping her from saying it.

Well, she’d have to be pushed past that pride. Ezri picked up the whip again. “Tell me when you hit ten.”

“Yes, ma’am—ah!”

Lalia’s cries continued as soon as the whip hit her again, again, again. The bruises just starting to form on her skin looked like they were going to be rather dramatic by the morning.

When Ezri heard the whimpered word, it was so faint she wasn’t sure, and then thought it probably wasn’t the first time, and Lalia repeated it quickly after the first time Ezri had heard it.

“Good girl,” she said; _I hear you_ ; but she didn’t let up, and Lalia went quiet again—not quiet, really, but not verbal. She made no sign of further protest. If anything, she seemed to relax a little.

Ezri didn’t intend to push her too far over that line. The girl had probably hit the point where she should stop several minutes ago, and whatever had held her back from saying _ten_ had broken. And they had an idea of how she reacted while the pain was still coming. It was only another long minute or two before Ezri rapidly lightened up, until the whip was barely touching her, and then stopped. Set it down. “Shh. All done.” Ezri sat on the edge of the bed next to her, and Lalia shifted to rest her head in Ezri’s lap, still getting out the last of the tears. “Good girl,” Ezri said, stroking her hair. “I love you. You took that very well and I’m very proud of you.”

When Lalia quieted, she got out, “Thank you, ma’am,” with a sniffle, and, shifting to kneeling, “I love you, too.”

“Water?” Ezri asked, retrieving the glass from the nightstand with a stretch.

“Please.” She nodded eagerly.

Ezri held it to her lips for her, until Lalia shook her head and withdrew.

Ezri took several long sips of it herself—she was overheated from the scene. Took some tissues from the box on the nightstand and dampened them some, wiped at Lalia’s face, then offered her more tissues, which she took and used and dropped in the nearby trashcan as Ezri set the water back on the nightstand.

She pulled Lalia back to her, petted her hair and noted her shivering, said, “Come up here,” which Lalia did without protest, though something seemed hesitant about it. Ezri wrapped both of them in the throw blanket and shifted, held her close in her lap and leaned back against the headboard.

Lalia mumbled something incoherent against her shoulder and Ezri said, “Hmm?”

“Is there… something I can do? Ma’am?”

“Such as…?”

“Put the whips away. Get you more water. Something.” It trailed into a mumble again; she snuggled closer despite the offer of going and doing something.

“Maybe in a minute,” said Ezri, as she tried to decode the words. Not sure whose sake they were for. If Lalia wanted a moment alone, or something else to focus on, or to feel like she had offered something more than passive submission, or to fulfill a perceived obligation, or to check on a concern.

In any case, the girl seemed sleepy and dazed right now, still coming down, the pain still dulling. In another minute she seemed listless, though, shifting in Ezri’s grasp.

“You may do either of those things if you’d like,” said Ezri, “and you may do any of your normal evening routines if you’d like. You may also go right to sleep if you want, on the bed. Or any combination of those. Or we can stay like this.”

Lalia shifted again and Ezri let go of her; she stood on shaky legs. “I just don’t want… you to feel like… I won’t…” Words were still not her strongsuit. “That you have to…” She gestured vaguely at Ezri, at the blanket they’d been wrapped in.

“I know,” she said gently. For something meant to be a test of Lalia’s reaction, Lalia seemed determined to not give her one. To have her reaction entirely be normalcy. Her usual levels of eager to do something useful. Her posture had changed a bit, her arms wrapped around herself, not affording her any modesty, but trying to calm shivering. “Why don’t you go put on a nightgown,” said Ezri; “for starters.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lalia did. Then she returned to looking at Ezri a bit dazedly, like she had answers.

“Now, would you like to go to sleep, or go put the whips away and fetch some water?”

“I’ll—I’ll go do those, ma’am. If that’s—if that’s okay.”

Ezri nodded, kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, confirming the unnecessary. “That’s okay.”

Lalia offered a shaky curtsy in the nightgown, and left. Ezri got ready for bed, herself, and had settled in when Lalia returned, with the water, noting having completed her evening routines outside of the bedroom as well.

“Good girl. I set your alarm for you. Did you have notes you wanted to handle?”

Lalia shook her head, looking nervous.

“Good. Come here.” She patted the spot next to her. Lalia curled up at her side eagerly. “There you are.” Ezri smiled, stroked her hair, draped the throw blanket over her. “I love you. You make me very proud.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Lalia smiled but didn’t look at her. “I—" she yawned “—I love you, too.”

“Try to rest,” said Ezri.

Sleep claimed her easily.


	11. A Message

They both considered the experimental scene a success. Ezri seemed especially pleased by it. “I was glad you asked,” she said in the morning, a real conversation after sleepy small talk at breakfast. “I was really starting to wonder… but I didn’t want to push it yet, unless you… prompted.”

“What part were you worried about?”

“Hmm. Not the scene itself, I think. I did worry that for this version—where you told me where the point of safewording was—you would hold out ridiculously or something. Much further past what you could actually take than I wanted to push you. Normally, we wouldn’t need that point—you wouldn’t have a safeword to be ignored. But this time… I think you tried to hold out a little—” Lalia offered a small smile of acquiescence “—but not that far. Mostly I think I worried about, after—for this version, if you’d feel guilt. Or be afraid, especially since it was the first time.”

The last words sent an odd shiver up Lalia’s spine, felt in sore weals and bruises. The implication of—the fact of—the future, where this would happen again, and again. Ezri had expressed that she had no desire to push her that far in that way routinely—but she could, at her whim, and there were other ways to push her limits. “I think I did feel guilty for a minute,” she said. “But I knew it was so illogical, I… let go of it quickly.”

“Good,” said Ezri. “That you let it go.”

Later, after discussing final checks on the guest room to make sure it was set up for Sadie, Ezri dismissed her; Lalia offered a small curtsy and was most of the way to the doorway when Ezri said, “And, Lalia?”

“Yes, ma’am?” She turned.

Ezri approached her, smiled, tilted her chin up and said, “You’re not going to orgasm while Sadie’s here. We’ll see how that chastity for focus idea of yours does. Understood?”

Stammers of surprise came out, but the only words that happened were, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.” She kissed her cheek, gave it a sharp pat, and left.

Lalia stared after her for a moment, feeling like there had to be more to say than that—but she couldn’t think of anything. Ezri had noted she’d been taken aback by how quickly Sadie’s training negotiations were expected to go—and now she was taken aback by the quickness and nonchalance of that order—well, statement; she was never allowed to orgasm without permission, but this was the acknowledgement that any requests would be denied. Yet, she hadn’t known what else there really was to say for the training negotiations, or now, for this. There wasn’t anything else to really discuss, but she was too used to the world of talking for a week with a partner of a year to do orgasm denial play for an hour at a time.

Well, she’d have to be getting over that assumption. She wasn’t upset. In fact, she was excited by it—by the concept that such things she’d always craved could happen so nonchalantly, that rather than having to beg—in the least sexy of ways—to be more than tapped with a flogger, she was black and blue from a beating that went beyond a safeword. It gave her the quiet mindedness of real helplessness, of submission.

She was also excited by the idea of, as Ezri had put it, testing her chastity for focus idea—let her focus on service; let her mind know that there was nothing in it for her if her thoughts wandered towards the arousing.

Sadie would be there for almost three weeks; it had been about three weeks since she’d moved in. To think of going that long without relief… it had been a while… and she was sure she could still expect Ezri’s usual quantity of teasing and sex and maybe play… to be truly used for Ezri’s pleasure only, to be that useful object without acknowledged desires of its own…

It raised her heart rate a little in arousal, too; she pressed her lips together to stop gaping at nothing and set about checking on the guest room and cleaning the bathrooms, which rapidly took her mind off of any concerns about pleasure and orgasms.

She sat down after to see what the Internet had to offer for entertainment, and it was mostly an unusual FetLife message. It noted seeing that she was training to be a majordomo, the implication that she would train others, and offered an invite to a local event run by a group called TrainingMax, where people interested in being trainers gathered, about a month out.

It sounded… off. The profile was well organized and indeed did talk in vague terms about connecting trainers and trainees, but was listed in Antarctica.

She sent a screenshot to Ezri, who replied, _Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,_ and appeared in Lalia’s office doorway.

“Ah...?” Lalia trailed off, unsure.

“TrainingMax is a piece of shit,” Ezri muttered, a lot more emphatic than usual.

“I… don’t know who they are? Ma’am?”

Ezri shook her head. “It’s a training company.”

“A… what?”

“For the network. What we do. But they’re everywhere. It’s like—if we’re an Etsy shop, they’re Amazon. And their ethics versus profit code is about as questionable. That’s probably Garrett you’re talking to. He’s local and high up in general enough to message you from the main page.”

“They want to… what, recruit us to the network? And get money from you to train me?”

“No.” Ezri laughed bitterly. “They know I’m network, and therefore you are, too. And knowing I’m network—and having clearly read your profile—they know I’ll be training people myself for that, and have no real interest in sending you to them.”

“So, what do they want?”

“They want you.”

“To sell me?” The thought made her a little more uncomfortable than she felt like it should have.

“No. Well, I can’t guarantee that, but—based on that message, the way it extrapolates on a pretty vague bit of your profile about training others—they want you to do exactly what you'll do here, but for them. They don’t exactly churn out many trainees who are eager to stick around and help them as a voice from that side of the slash; I’ve met a few who avoided them like the plague after. If you were predisposed—it would help. And it would be too much work to pull you away from another arrangement just to sell you. They won’t tell from that profile what you’re worth.”

“Wait, so if they knew what I was worth, they’d bother?”

This gave Ezri pause. “Possibly.”

“Have you… done the math?”

“I… just wanted a frame of reference.” She was being hesitant, but nothing about her manner indicated lying.

“For...?”

“You, versus anyone I’m actually selling—how close I could get someone to that value, how fast. Comparisons to old deals, too.”

“You assume I’d be worth more than the trainees?”

“I think, with how much you did on your own, we’re not going to get too many people in entry training who are that close at the start. It’s things I didn’t have to teach you, say, that most people who end up in entry training and not with an Owner wouldn’t have done. By the end of training, they’d likely be closer—but you, over time, with experience, especially with training others, which would practically make you a business investment in yourself—would be hard to catch up to. I was just curious… on the math.”

Lalia was quiet, thinking. “Do you know these people? TrainingMax?”

“I haven’t met any of them that I know of,” said Ezri. “They’re not very welcome anywhere I frequent. So, I admit my information is second hand.”

“So how do they even know you’re network?”

“They would’ve checked. We’re all pretty good about that. They probably have a tab on me just because I was also doing training. And I have the symbol in the corner of some of my pictures, which is a pretty popular indicator.”

Lalia, now knowing what it was, did remember seeing that, the network symbol, the little infinity sign with gaps to look like it was made of chain, three curved lines per loop, a subtle shoutout to the BDSM triskelion. It did seem like Ezri was jumping to a few conclusions here, but… she would know better than Lalia did right now.

“So what is it that they do? That’s so bad?”

Ezri sighed. “They purposefully attract the sort of people who barely know what they’re getting into, say what they need to say to get them in, not what they should say for full disclosure. Their training is brutal, and they’ll do anything to condition in the latest trendy behaviors instead of acting in anyone’s best interest. They try to get people to cut off families who ‘don’t understand’ with no reason to cut those support ties other than the convenience for that kind of Owner who doesn’t want to feel limited by vanilla family members popping in; they don’t encourage any education that’s not closely filtered; they make it very taxing to petition to leave. They try to cut off any sense of personal morals or intelligence in the name of making everyone easily palatable and marketable, anyone could be sold to anyone, God forbid they have to take a minute to evaluate who’s a match.”

“So what should I say? To this message? Or ignore it?”

“You enthusiastically agree to go,” said Ezri.

“What?” It seemed like a sudden turnaround. Trying to figure out what she’d misinterpreted, she said, “I mean—yes, ma’am—but…?”

“Well,” said Ezri, “like I said, all of my information is second hand, and they’re a big competitor, and doing things they shouldn’t, and now they’re trying to interfere with you and pissing me off. I could definitely go for a bit of observation. Say you’ll be there. Show me if they say anything else.” She paused. “And keep it to that message thread. Don’t tell anyone else about this.”

It made sense, but it was—a bit nerve wracking. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, reeling. She did reply as Ezri said to, and got a fairly generic response back that Ezri offered little comment on. Talking about this felt different from talking about CNC scenes, training Sadie, chastity experiments, or the former trainees whose contract installments were still being paid. It felt a bit more removed from her, from what she knew, a bit more of a mystery.

She was soothed by the familiar routines of the day, distracted by Sadie’s imminent arrival—and apparently, some things Ezri had in mind with that. And cleaning, filing, reading, serving dinner, talking M/s theory with Ezri over the meal.

“So, like—I own you,” said Ezri during that talk. “Well, if you sign the Ownership contract—I own you; we both agreed; it’s what we’ll act by. Except—there’s the law. Legally, you can’t consent in advance to me forcing you to do something you don’t want to do. You can’t consent to assault, which would cover me beating you. You can’t consent to me killing you because murder is flatly illegal, and people have tested that. You can’t consent to me selling you because human trafficking is illegal. So on. So I own you, except for those sorts of things, that have to be given up, or kind of hidden, if I don’t want problems.”

“Right.”

“So, I own you according to… what? Not the law. You could get religion involved and say God, but neither of us are religious. In network, it’s... socially acknowledged, but not enforceable beyond social pressure. In the public BDSM scene, I own you just because we both say so, but if at some point you say I don’t, then I don’t. But at that point, you’ve forfeited your right to say that I don’t own you. But, forfeited to who?”

“To you,” Lalia said.

“But I can't take your rights away, in the eyes of the law or God or most people. Even if you agree, or agree up front. And if I just keep you locked in the basement or whatever, that’s not much for true ownership of a sentient person. So who says, what says, I can take your rights, other than—you continue to generally willingly obey.”

“The contract,” said Lalia, and before Ezri argued; “that we both signed. It’s honor bound, and it says you own me, and I can’t change that. If I go back on it, I lose that integrity. It’s like a lien. I either honor the agreement or lose something momentous. Telling someone they own me really meaning something, ever again.”

Ezri paused. She hadn’t expected that, and it was stronger than the case of—you have to want this. “Yes,” she said slowly, thinking.

“I said that—anything you wanted to do—I’d let you. And if you don’t abide by the law or religion or social pressure, that doesn’t change what I said. So if I break the contract and leave and say it was because you were doing something illegal—I’m still breaking the honor ties. So I forfeit my right to leave with that integrity, to you—because the only way to leave with that is if you release me. You have a lien on my integrity with my debt being lifelong obedience. To include forfeiting all other rights. Unless you release me. If, when, I die, you die, or you release me—the debt is paid; my integrity is something you can’t take at that point.”

“Yes,” said Ezri again, still processing, admittedly surprised by an angle she hadn’t thought through, or maybe just a way of putting it. She was still pondering it in the back of her mind almost until she was coming deep inside Lalia later, letting the girl find her own release one last time before the promised start of her chastity.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lalia panted after, catching her breath with her head on Ezri’s chest.

In the morning, Sadie arrived. She was, for now, to generally follow their usual protocols, shadow Lalia for meals, including prep and cleanup (with Lalia responsible for generally trying to teach her to keep up) and spend her time primarily on Ezri's assigned reading, study, practice, and service, except for the four hours on weekday afternoons when she would be working—her job was online. Otherwise, she would either be training with Ezri, or Lalia as directed. Each night, Lalia was to fill in a training report for Ezri, and she was supposed to be Sadie’s first go to, and generally keep an eye on the other girl. In the future, she would have even more to do with the assignments.

Sadie’s arrival in the late morning was fairly anticlimactic—she settled in, and then worked.

Lalia, left to her own devices, checked on some household inventory—toiletries, first aid, office, hosting, food, household maintenance, dungeon, cleaning, gifting, mailing—noting what they might need soon.

Pondering Sadie more, and looking at the supply of printer paper, she formatted and printed off the recipes she knew she would be using while Sadie was here, added some notes, made a reminder to print the others as meals got planned. That would give her something to work with if Sadie was going to shadow the cooking, something she hadn’t seriously pondered how to go about until dinner time was looming, feeling unsure.

She added Sadie’s reading list to her own, crossing off items she’d read. She hadn’t gotten to all of it before Sadie’s arrival and thus claim on the physical items, and it wasn’t urgent for her to read them—Ezri hadn’t required it—but it seemed like a good idea, to generally keep up with what Ezri was having trainees read, if not for that person, for the general future.

Ezri had told her she wanted her to impart what she could on mindfulness techniques; she had gotten to add a few things to the reading list—mostly links. Tomorrow she’d get to start working with Sadie on that. Now she looked at the concepts she had written down and tried to translate them into lessons and things to tell her to practice.

Sadie shadowing her for making dinner wasn’t really so complicated—she was cheerful and decent company and caught on quickly, if she was definitely lacking in some kitchen knowledge.

It was when they were actually eating dinner that Lalia felt suddenly irritable. The conversation was good, but she had become rather used to lingering at meals being a main time she and Ezri talked at length, and it was different, not even bad, but different, with Sadie there, and she knew Sadie would be there for weeks. She wondered about future trainees—if they had many more at a time… if they would be doing meals like this still.

They talked about things besides training, but it was a big subject. “I look forward to learning more of Lalia’s cooking,” Sadie said with a kind smile. “We could trade—I could teach you like, baths and massages and stuff.”

“Good idea,” said Ezri.

Lalia managed to not snap at either of them with a stiff smile, downcast eyes, and relative silence.

The lack of that relaxing alone time with Ezri combined with Sadie’s attempt to turn the tables on her was making her feel ill at ease illogically. In reality, she knew she would be alone with Ezri plenty and that Sadie was just trying to be helpful.

Ezri questioned her quietness at that night’s check in. “You seemed… preoccupied.”

“I’m just… used to us being alone,” she said, but framed it as, “I don’t really know… how to act with Sadie yet.”

“Hmm.”

She suspected Ezri knew her full problem here. “I was thinking—if we have a lot more trainees at a time, later, will meals work the same?”

“I think it’d be overkill to have everyone in the kitchen,” said Ezri. “So there’d probably be shifts for that, you and one or two trainees for any given day, cooking and cleanup. Real entry level, there’s a bit more… separation expected, I think; it might be then that we do eat alone, separately.”

This perked Lalia up a little, as did curling up on the bed with Ezri and talking for a bit, about things that might change with more trainees, at entry level, or with time. Later, she retreated to her usual spot for sleep.

Future, future, future. It was thrilling to discuss it—to think about the fact that they had a future, doing this, together—and also daunting, knowing that so much they did now had implications for more to come.


	12. Couldn't Help It

Mindfulness training with Sadie began with breathing. Ezri assigned an hour a day for it. Tuesday brought a bit more instruction, Wednesday though was mostly mutual but individual meditation. Lalia had included resources that tied suiting slave positions in, and things on progressive relaxation, locating and releasing tensions from physically manifesting emotions, focusing on the senses—locating things based on color, texture, shape. Check in on what each of your senses was experiencing routinely—try a timer until it was habit.

Mostly, though, it was breathing. Feel the air move; feel it warm with the exhale and cool with the inhale. Slow, deep breaths. Count the seconds. Focus on that. Do it in silence; hear the room.

It was mostly relaxing, and it seemed to be serving Sadie well in her position repertoire training sessions with Ezri, as told in Ezri’s brief notes that went into Lalia’s evening reports. Otherwise, the two apparently discussed the reading on service and theory. Currently the real focus was preparing her to do bar service with a limited menu at the upcoming party—committing those recipes and some facts to memory and some presentation bits.

She required a bit of reminding on certain protocols—Ezri’s or some modified from Travis—but she did seem to be trying her best. Lalia rolled her eyes a little at some of the forgetful exchanges she witnessed—and part of her wished that Sadie wasn’t so likable otherwise when she asked rather obvious questions about certain chores or presented a rather lacking service theory.

Thursday morning, Ezri had Sadie handle breakfast by herself. She wasn’t truly that bad in the kitchen—and she had notes prepared by Lalia to go by, table setting charts and recipes and so on. Sadie was to follow roughly the same protocol set as Lalia had for that initial dinner with her and Travis—guest protocol. Today Lalia would simply eat with Ezri.

This, admittedly, was something Lalia knowingly looked forward to more than she should have. She was eager to see exactly how well Sadie handled it—or didn’t. And while a failure of Sadie’s at this point might reflect badly on her as well… she felt very okay about either possibility. To see Sadie do well meant she had been useful; to see Sadie fail meant her own skill in this area was proven rarer. She was mostly curious—and left Sadie generously thorough notes; she wasn’t going to be responsible for errors.

Sadie, in truth, didn’t do terribly. The food wasn’t great, but it was beyond edible, and it was laid out properly. Sadie was fidgety and a bit slouchy, but silent during the meal, her job of cleaning up satisfactory. Ezri was quick with praise, saving detailed debrief for later.

Lalia accepted she should be pleased with this outcome—Sadie not doing so well she felt demoted, nor so poorly she hadn’t taught anything worthwhile. It had been a nice break for her in some ways, and she got that meal alone—if not in private—with Ezri.

Yet she smiled a little, when Sadie caught her attention after, saying, “God, was that like, super weird?”

“Was what weird?” she asked innocently. Admittedly it had been strange for her to not be the one in the most subservient position—but she had the feeling Sadie was speaking about the opposite.

“Like—breakfast—I dunno—I’m just like, ‘Hey don’t mind me, I’ll just be… standing here. Making no noise and pretending that I don’t exist.’ Like—not eating, not talking, just… hovering.”

Lalia laughed. “Did you get the reference from Ezri?”

“No, why?”

That was even funnier. “Did everyone in the network come straight from the Harry Potter fandom?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Sadie began sarcastically, trailing off into a giggle. “But, no, really—like, isn’t that weird for you?”

Well… yes, but no. Hovering had been a bit strange at the free flowing event of Charlie’s party; the invisible leash drew her close, but not too close, to where Ezri was, when she wasn’t elsewhere, and it felt like stalking. But that wasn’t this, and she hadn’t felt it at the nearest comparison—the dinner with Travis. “No,” she said. “Not really.”

“Just—I kept feeling like I should’ve been… saying something, or at least looking like I was involved.”

“But you weren’t supposed to.”

“I know, I know.” She was still looking at Lalia expectantly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“Like—you don’t have to say anything. I was just… wondering.”

“It’s not about you,” she tried. “No one minds if you hover because they told you to hover and be quiet. They’re not paying attention. And you don’t get anywhere by complaining the second you have someone’s attention.”

“I wasn’t trying to complain,” said Sadie. “Just… commiserate? Since you have to do this, too.”

“What is there to commiserate about?”

“I don’t know. Sorry. Forget it.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be upstairs.”

“Uh, cool.”

Lalia left. She felt irritated by Sadie’s attitude, but a little pleased she had not actually handled breakfast as well as breakfast had gone, confirming her suspicion.

Later, though, after debriefing with Sadie, Ezri found her upstairs and said, “A word?”

Lalia nodded and followed Ezri into her office, the door closing behind them. She frowned, unsure of what Ezri had in mind; her wording and tone and the closed door seemed ominous. She knelt in front of her where Ezri had turned her chair from the desk.

“I heard you talked to Sadie after breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am?” She knew she had been a bit short with her, but it didn’t seem like anything worth running to Ezri about, even if that was the system in play, which it wasn’t. Confused, she tried to just let Ezri speak.

“She was concerned she upset you. Said you were dismissive and told her not to complain.”

The first sentence could’ve been a relief—a concern, not an accusation—if not for the second. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, lowered her head a little.

“I don’t think she intended to bring this to me. She mentioned talking to you during debrief and I asked.”

So Sadie hadn’t run off to tattle to Ezri, per se. Which meant this was Ezri’s complaint, not Sadie’s. She was even more hesitant, now. She hadn’t felt she’d been over the line in that conversation, if she hadn’t been the picture of patience, but apparently she was at least much closer to that line than fully realized.

“I want to make sure we’re clear that you are to be reasonable and helpful to trainees, someone they can talk to fairly openly. It’s not your job or your place to pass judgment or reprimand that’s not from me. You’re welcome to talk to me about these thoughts—they won’t always be unreasonable—but it’s counterproductive to express them to trainees without my approval.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered. She had known that—and she hadn’t thought of the conversation with Sadie as an effect of having some status or power over her—not a reprimand in that sense—but she understood how Ezri saw it that way and how Sadie might have. She hadn’t been surprised that it was the issue Ezri wanted to talk about, and Ezri’s reaction to Sadie’s words didn’t seem to be surprise either. She knew Lalia's feelings on this. She’d just expected a filter, regardless of if the words were framed with status or not. Pushing her own opinions was part of the concern Lalia herself had expressed to Paige. Knowing it had come to light made her cringe a little.

“I understand it’s a strange situation to navigate for the first time, but you still know better than this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She did. She held her head lower still, and her heart raced. She wondered if Ezri was going to punish her—and knew it shouldn’t have mattered if this was only a warning or not—she’d clearly disappointed her regardless, something that made her stomach turn uncomfortably. It wasn’t the pain she feared but the concreteness of a first punishment; she’d made errors before enough to get a warning, but hadn’t crossed that line. “I’m sorry. And I’ll apologize to Sadie.”

Ezri tilted her chin up. “Yes, you will. I don’t want to have this problem. Especially not this fast. I’ve ordered Sadie to tell me of any issues and I expect you to self report. I'll let today’s incident go, but I won’t warn you again.”

“Yes, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“Good girl. You may go.”

Lalia stood, offered a slightly shaky curtsy, and a second steadier one before Ezri could correct her, waiting for the small nod of approval before she left.

She had mindfulness training with Sadie not long later, and Sadie—mercifully, maybe—brought the incident up first. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry if I like—got you in trouble or anything. I wasn’t gonna mention it; it just… came up.”

“I know. We’re fine. No one’s in trouble.”

“Well, good,” said Sadie.

“I’m sorry I… was… dismissive,” she said, because it was probably the right thing to say, because she had told Ezri she would, because Sadie held no malevolence and was not, in truth, that bad a trainee.

“It’s cool,” said Sadie.

The hour was fine, uneventful, quiet. Lalia carefully mentioned paying attention to things like fidgeting and posture and Sadie was receptive.

After, Sadie went to work. Lalia occupied herself separately until it was time for them to start dinner. She figured, based on the success of the mindfulness training hour, it would be best if they were mostly quiet, since she couldn’t seem to hold her tongue today. Sadie, however, had other ideas, and asked today’s set of misguidedly pointless recipe questions and spoke eagerly of her latest theory reading in a way that completely misinterpreted it to validate her own failings and complaints, which Lalia could apparently not resist telling her.

It was more than a snippy one liner, more than a slip of the tongue, and it was out of her mouth before she could stop it anyway.

Sadie just kind of gave her a look and Lalia mumbled an apology, cursing herself mentally, and Sadie said, “It’s okay,” and then was quiet, and Lalia apologized again, and Sadie said, “Uh, it’s okay,” again, then changed the subject to something she evidently thought was safer and didn’t really prompt her for responses, anyway.

Lalia hadn’t brought herself to come back to it when it was time to serve and eat dinner. In every lull, she waited for Sadie to say it. Ezri seemed to grow suspicious as dinner went on, but didn’t prompt—yet. She started to wait for that in the lulls, too. Yet Sadie looked as nervous as she did.

Cleaning up dinner after, with just Sadie, she said, “I’ll tell her,” breaking the silence they had agreed on with eye contact.

“Okay,” said Sadie. It was gentle but also sounded a little like she didn’t believe her, which stung, because when she said she was going to do something, she did it. And when she didn’t… she would be honest. Better Ezri hear it from her, was the conclusion each tense lull had led her to.

So she knocked on Ezri’s open office door as soon as they were done cleaning up dinner.

Ezri, after the inexplicably awkward dinner especially, eyed all of her body language that probably screamed guilt, but said, “Lalia, sweetheart, come in,” like she was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, which was worse than accusation, because she didn’t deserve it.

Lalia shut the door behind her and knelt next to her. Words evaded her; they hadn’t come to her quickly and she wasn’t going to stall to find them. She felt sick and now like she might cry, and Ezri offered a stroke of her hair in the quiet.

“I… said something to Sadie I shouldn’t have. Ma’am,” she said finally.

“I thought you might’ve,” Ezri sighed. “What happened?”

Lalia told her, including her apology to Sadie and trying to not shift blame. “I’m sorry,” she finished, eyes on the floor.

“I don’t believe I made it unclear what would happen if you did this again.”

“No, ma’am,” she whispered, once the silence was obviously a prompt. Even quieter, “I’ll take any punishment you give me.”

“I’m very disappointed that it did happen again, and that it happened so fast.”

It wasn’t particularly scathing, but she flinched anyway. She nodded silently to avoid letting the tears escape with words, unable to hang her head any lower.

“Tell me… why you did it.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, choking on the words.

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked why.”

Lalia looked at the floor quizzically, tears starting to slip down her cheeks.

“I gave you an order, which you normally take very seriously. What made you act differently this time?”

“I—I don’t know—ma’am—I’m sorry—I just—snapped. I don’t… know. I was… frustrated, at Sadie—and that I hadn’t kept it in check before—and I—” shuddering breath “—I don’t know. I'm sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. … Again. I swear.” She gave into the sobs, surprised at the strength of her own reaction.

“Lalia.” Ezri said her name softer than it deserved, but like there was something else coming.

“I’m sorry—I still—I still want—to listen. And do as you say. And serve you and obey you and I just—screwed it all up—I’m sorry—please—I’ll fix it—I’ll do anything you want and I’ll be good and useful and I’ll behave and I’ll please you; I just need—another chance to try—please don’t dismiss me, I’ll do better. I promise.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Look at me.” Tilting her head up. Lalia’s eyes, wide and watery, met hers, whimper still on her lips. “I love you. You’re mine. I have every intention to keep you. You’re a good girl of good service and you please me very much and make me proud every day. I don’t want you to lose sight of that.”

“Except today,” Lalia whispered, unable to help herself.

“Even today,” Ezri corrected her. “You came to me on your own about an infraction it’s possible I wouldn’t have found out about. And I’ll punish you for that infraction—but I’ll forgive you. You’re human and you’re going to make mistakes. And you have to be willing to make those mistakes to have a worthwhile bigger picture. This may be the first time I punish you, but it’s exceedingly unlikely it’ll be the last. Do I want to do it often? No. But if we want the good parts of this life, we have to take the rest with it. Why would I have even made a discipline system if I’d throw you out at the first error, hmm?”

Lalia was quiet.

“So, are you willing to keep making mistakes with me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, with a sniffle and a hesitant smile.

“Good. Then we’ll start by clearing your slate for another one. Go fetch the cane from the mantel and wait here presenting it. I’m going to talk to Sadie for argument’s sake.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She stood, curtsied, managed to keep it steady, left, hoping to not cross paths with Sadie, didn’t. Got the cane, returned to Ezri’s now unoccupied office, knelt with it and waited.

Ezri returned shortly without comment.

She had never taken any joy in giving punishments—pain was easy; unwanted pain especially was a rush; but despite her chosen method, punishments weren’t about pain. Lalia’s primary distress was and would be deeply emotional, and it was supposed to be that way—but disappointment—hers, Lalia’s own—was much more painful to inflict.

Lalia’s only plea—without protest, question, or complaint—had been for another chance to please, to serve, to obey—which she normally did a very good job of. She’d explicitly said she’d take any punishment Ezri gave her, do anything for forgiveness.

And it was different this time, than Ezri’s long standing usual—because Lalia was hers. This was not the case of— _I’m doing this because this is what the temporary training contract I wrote with your Owner states_ —but— _I’m doing this because this behavior cannot be a part of our lifelong future together._

She took the cane Lalia offered after a long moment of pause. “Up,” she said softly.

Lalia stood, head low.

“Over the desk.”

Lalia did as bidden. Her shoulders started to shake again with small, barely contained sobs, even without pain.

“Breathe,” said Ezri. "I don’t want you hyperventilating.”

Lalia did.

Ezri moved her clothes out of the way while Lalia caught her breath, rested a hand on her as a guideline for the strikes. “Sore?” she asked, fingers pressing against the last remnants of the bruises from Saturday’s scene. She liked to know the severity of what she was inflicting—including the effects of preexisting pain.

“Not... really.”

Ezri would’ve expected that. Nothing felt like bruising under her testing touch, just looked it, fading gold and grayish purple marks. Not the sort of bruises you weren’t supposed to strike over, and that wasn’t a terribly critical rule to break in her opinion. “Stay still and speak when spoken to.”

She tapped Lalia with the cane a few times, aligning, and then brought it down much harder.

Lalia hissed, and writhed and squirmed as the strokes kept coming, but stayed as still as Ezri required. The tears built again quickly, and she felt very tired from the crying.

Ezri spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the swish of the cane and Lalia’s cries.

“You’re going to learn to obey all of my orders, regardless of if they concern someone else or what your personal opinion is on the issue, and you’re going to be a useful, approachable, and open minded resource for trainees, and won’t give your own judgments on their actions. You’re here to serve me and submit to my will, and I won’t have you breaking that purpose. Your pride won’t interfere with your obedience again, especially when it’s so hypocritical, you disobey to assert yourself as better trained. You know better and I was very disappointed you did this anyway at first opportunity.”

The words were sinking in; Lalia was stiller now, though the strikes didn’t lighten.

Pause. “I’m going to strike you six more times. You’re going to count as you’ve been taught. Then it will be done.” Gave her a moment, hit her again.

Lalia flinched, whimpered. “One… thank you, ma’am. Please may I have another?”

Through six. “You may not,” Ezri said to the last question, and set the cane down while Lalia wept the last tears she had in her. “Shh. You’re forgiven.” She fixed her clothes, rubbed her back. “You took that very well and I’m very proud of you.”

Lalia had to catch her breath, then whispered, “Thank you, ma’am.”

Ezri withdrew her hand and Lalia stood.

“I love you,” said Ezri, lips at her forehead, gentle kisses on her skin.

“I love you, too.”

Ezri embraced her tightly and Lalia clung to her for several moments, then released her. “You may go put the cane back.”

Lalia nodded, curtsied, picked up the cane delicately, and replaced it where it had been.

Sadie said nothing of it that night. Ezri did not avoid her but did not seek her out.

It gave her emotions some time to settle before bed. She felt better than she had since Sadie’s arrival, in a way. More emotionally sure of her place in it. Guilt expiated. Mind quieted into surrender.

She felt a rush of gratitude and affection when with Ezri next—a last check in before sleep, Ezri sitting on the bed, Lalia kneeling at her feet, very aware of her heels digging into bruises.

They talked. About something Ezri was trying and—according to her—failing to write. About the research she’d done for it, the indie bookstore she’d finally found one book through, how much she hated Amazon politically, and about TrainingMax and how it was hard to find someone not associated with them to bring in for leash training—something that wasn’t her specialty and Travis had wanted—and she should sign up Lalia, too—and Lalia should find out when Travis was available; he’d need to be there—and she should remind Ezri to show her the best tricks for finding network people for something like this for the future—and there was a non network BDSM class she was eyeing, but not on the calendar yet, as they talked about scheduling—and the party was soon—and—

“I’m rambling,” she said abruptly.

Lalia laughed. “I like it when you ramble.”

Ezri looked at her as if she’d just noticed her, and smiled. “God, I love you. Come up here.”

Lalia did.

Ezri kissed her, fingers threaded in her hair, the kind that made her ache for more—but she also knew she wasn’t getting more tonight—in the end—which turned the need that had built for days and surged now into the pleasant hum of wanting to be used—maybe further make up for other failings.

Tuesday night had come with full use that had been hard to not slip over the edge of orgasm during; Wednesday morning came with brief oral service that didn’t go anywhere.

Lalia made a small sound of desire at the thoughts and Ezri’s lips on hers. Ezri pulled away from her very slightly and murmured, “What do you want, hmm? You know you’re not gonna be allowed to come.” She pressed kisses to the side of her face.

“I… just want—to make you feel good. Ma’am.”

Ezri smirked. “Very well.” She pulled her pajama shirt over her head, shifted to pull her pants out from under her and off, set her glasses on the nightstand. She lay back on the bed, pulled Lalia with her, kissed her again, brief but lingering. “Show me how you do that. Any way you like.”

Lalia bit her lip, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” To ask for instruction was to ignore Ezri’s order. She kissed her one more time, shifted, and moved her lips to Ezri’s jaw, her neck, light, suckling kisses trailed down until she took a nipple into her mouth, sucked and swirled her tongue, and Ezri sighed, one hand returning to Lalia’s hair, one stroking herself absently.

Lalia changed sides, trailing more kisses before taking the other nipple into her mouth, leaning over, a steadying hand on the bed and the other at Ezri’s thigh, out of the way of Ezri's own ministrations.

Distracted, Ezri’s hand slowed and Lalia replaced it, hesitantly, with her own. Ezri let her. “Like this,” she said after a moment, adjusting the placement of Lalia’s fingers slightly. Then let Lalia stroke her, humming contentedly, Lalia’s mouth still at her breast, hand working blind. She didn’t have much experience with this—she’d mostly been with women—cis women—she corrected herself mentally—one boyfriend who wasn’t into handjobs, and an AFAB enby.

Still, Ezri seemed to like the job of it she was doing, even as her arm started to get sore and more inconsistent. She slowed and stopped, drew back. “Would you like…?” she trailed off, not sure how to phrase it.

“Get on top of me.” Lalia shifted to straddle her, adjusting and shifting, nightgown hiked up, and then Ezri was inside of her.

Lalia bit her lip, made a small sound of pain—evidently, knowing relief wasn’t coming hadn’t left her that physically wet, nor with any stretching, and each thrust brought Ezri’s hips against the throbbing lines from the cane, not helping her relax any muscles.

She tried to breathe, to not focus on the pain; she leant over and resumed working with her mouth; Ezri’s hand tightened in her hair, keeping it out of the way. “Something wrong?” she asked, breathy. “You’re not very wet.”

“S’fine,” she mumbled.

Ezri didn’t press, and it got easier—her body caught up. It didn’t feel overwhelmingly good like it had the other night, but that was easier in a way, to focus on Ezri’s pleasure. She was sore and tired and tried to help Ezri come quickly—relieved, mostly, when she did, and let Lalia slide off of her.

Ezri was sleepy too, dozing quickly, and barely stirring when Lalia fumbled her way to her blanket, shutting the light, and also quickly fell asleep—hoping tomorrow brought more of the last part of the night and less of the rest of the day.


	13. Hosting

Lalia woke in the morning alone; her alarm hadn’t gone off just yet, but a notification from her period tracking app said she was due in two days, and she mumbled, “That might explain something,” to herself, as if that really made anything much better.

To be fair, her period was almost nonexistent compared to what it had been before the birth control, which she’d started for the one boyfriend, stayed on for what it did for the monthly effects.

Even now, Ezri had said it was possible that after all the hormones, she was infertile—though she hadn’t checked, and that effect might fade, and it wasn’t worth the risk—but if the birth control had ill effects, she could look into it; Lalia had shaken her head; she hadn’t noticed any ill effects and it was well worth it even when she had been only with partners who offered no pregnancy risk.

And… the middle of their chastity experiment would be an interesting time to get her period.

The only other notifications she had were a message from Bailey confirming the party planning meeting today, three cat memes from Clara, a standard creepy FetLife message, an email that she had a hold ready at the library, and as she looked at the others, a fourth, dirtier cat meme and wink emoji from Clara. Bailey and Clara got answers and the library email got a note in her calendar.

She started on her morning routines, found some extra time before breakfast, and got the mail, brought it to Ezri’s office, as it was all addressed to either Ezri or Ezria. Lalia did not get much mail as none of the bills or such were in her name; what was addressed to her was often spam destined for the recycle bin.

She waited in the doorway. “Good morning, sweetheart.” Ezri stood from her desk and gave her a light kiss on the lips, took the mail from her. “Thrilling,” she said, flipping through bills. “I don’t know why they insist on wasting the paper; these are all on autopay; but, you can file them.” She handed all but one back to Lalia. “This one’s just convincing spam.” She handed her the last.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I should really change the name on some of these,” Ezri mused. “Or have you do it.”

“To...?”

“They should all be under Ezria now, by about twenty years. Amazing how slow some companies are at that.”

Lalia frowned in confusion, unsure where these companies would’ve gotten Ezri from, which was, she thought, just a nickname for the legally changed Ezria. What Ezri’s name had been before that, she’d never bothered to ask.

Ezri looked at her in realization. “You… don’t know that story.”

“I… guess not?”

“God,” Ezri laughed. “Okay. So, Ezri was my birth name.”

Lalia opened her mouth and then closed it, made a vague sound of confusion.

“I know. Gender isn’t real. My parents used it as a boy’s name. Which, it could go either way. I felt like I was supposed to change it when I transitioned, but I couldn’t come up with anything to save my life and kept stalling and finally went with Ezria, because I’m creative like that. Legally changed it, but it didn’t stick socially. I got over the idea that some trans overlords said I had to change my name and it wasn’t eyebrow raising as it was, so I just went back to Ezri, or, most cases, just kept going with it. But… I never legally changed it back. And these should have my legal name.” She gestured at the bills.

Lalia blinked, and echoed, “Gender isn’t real.”

Ezri laughed. “Did I ever tell you I tried a dynamic with a trans guy once who turned out to be exclusively into cis men at the same time I turned out to be exclusively into cis women?”

“I think so,” she said.

“Well, that’s queer culture for you.”

Lalia’s phone, in her pocket, dinged several times, making her jump because it was almost always on silent; she must have changed it on accident. Guessing what it was, she pulled it out and showed the string of messages to Ezri. “Queer culture is your ex sending me twenty cat memes a day.”

“That, too.” Ezri’s phone buzzed on the desk several times, lighting up with significant overlap to Lalia’s set of memes. “You know, I’m gonna kill that girl even if she’s not still mine to kill.”

Lalia laughed.

“Or at least make her pay for my data.”

“She’ll be here later for you to kill. Or bill.”

And she was—Clara, Asher, and Bailey arrived shortly after breakfast for the party planning meeting. The three, plus Sadie and Lalia, met in the living room. Ezri had said she planned to stay out of their way.

Lalia presented the party plans much more clumsily than Paige had. Protocols—Ezri’s a little more extensive than Charlie’s—guest list, assigned tasks.

Sadie would be tied to the bar in the kitchen—figuratively. "All right, maybe literally,” she corrected to laughs; that didn’t seem out of Ezri’s range of amusement, nor was the controversy of providing bar service at a play party.

Trying to cut down on running around to find people, Bailey would focus on circulating the living room and Asher on the dungeon, covering main spaces people would be in and assuming the waiting position in the designated spot when things were quiet; Clara would similarly be by the door while people were still arriving, then cover the kitchen, another key area. She’d found the idea of covering different zones in a book and run it by Ezri before presenting it, unsure, as Paige hadn’t used it. Ezri had added the waiting position and return spot.

She’d tried to compare her notes to Paige’s—she mentioned, trying to spare anyone the anxiety of the last minute text that she’d had, seeking permission for name tags and ribbons. “If you need to.”

This got her three eye rolls and Asher’s tug at his name patch on his leather vest, tossing his long dark curls out of the way.

“Good to be prepared,” she said.

Asher and Bailey weren’t there long all told; Clara lingered to visit with Ezri; Sadie headed upstairs for work.

Shortly after Clara left, Ezri found her adding things to her notes in the living room. “So, in interesting news,” said Ezri; “I just got an email saying that the network is gonna have certifications now. As in, a third party testing board that'll be able to certify certain areas of training.”

“Okay,” Lalia said slowly. On the one hand, that made sense—given what certain training was valued at in network, it made sense to want a bit of a standard guarantee on it. On the other, she felt like Ezri was trying to lead her to a revelation she wasn’t getting to.

“This might explain TrainingMax’s sudden interest in stepping up their game.”

“Ah.” Yes—vague, but it did add up.

“They’re not implementing for another few weeks. I’ll probably have you certified in whatever you’re likely to pass, for some credentials, and to see what it looks like. I forwarded you the email, if you want to look at some details.”

Lalia nodded. “How… do you feel about that?” she asked. “The certification idea?” She knew Ezri’s strong opinions on TrainingMax, but wasn’t sure how this might play into it.

Ezri shrugged. “It’s a fine idea. Easily biased, but so’s not having any supposed third party tests at all. More paperwork. But—” she strolled over to Lalia, kissed her “—luckily, I have someone to help me with that. We’ll figure it out later.”

She didn’t stay long, left Lalia to her notes and looking at the forwarded email curiously. It detailed who would be on the board locally, by specialty to test—she didn’t have strong associations with any of the names and Ezri had said nothing of it—what specialties were available, a decent list, and what testing looked like, incredibly varied. Her mind spun with questions but none were especially pressing.

The specialty list came back to her after Sadie’s work hours, her own work around the house, mindfulness training, dinner—which went much better today, though Sadie was starting to get mopey about missing Travis, which Lalia imagined was hard.

Sadie was to give her a lesson on massage, which would let her show Ezri what she could do and teach Lalia something useful—something listed as its own skill certificate—with Ezri as a happy teaching tool.

This was one of those things Lalia had not learned much about when her learning was very solo, because there was only so much of it you could learn.

Sadie clearly knew what she was doing in this department, and was a good and patient teacher. She had opinions about choices of the warmed, nicely scented massage oils for each type of massage, preferring tonight, “Almond, lavender, and jojoba,” with dim lights and calm music for the environment. She knew what to ask, and could easily show which lines on the body to follow in which direction, timing, which spots had impacts on pain elsewhere, techniques. She would do something, let Lalia try it next, and offer feedback alongside Ezri’s. Lalia was very conscious of how she responded to such feedback.

“Don’t be afraid of pressure,” said Sadie. “Most people go way too little, not way too much. Same thing for timing—it all mostly feels good, so don’t be afraid to err on the long side and keep doing it. Most people switch techniques too fast.”

It went well, and at the end of it, Ezri offered praise and, to Sadie, “Travis has been happy to hear how you’ve been doing. After the party tomorrow, he’s gonna have you come home for a night since he knows you’ve—”

Sadie cut her off with a small squeal of excitement and a tight hug, then thought better of it and let her go, tried, “I mean—thank you, ma’am. Sorry?” and a curtsy, which was an unnecessary but equally entertaining combination.

Lalia smiled as she tried not to laugh, but it was good natured. She’d known about the night with Travis before the massage lesson, and it had been hard to keep the secret contained as Sadie lamented only getting to see him in relatively short intervals like the party.

Ezri did laugh, and said, “You can thank him, tomorrow.”

Sadie got a slightly dreamy and blushy look that told Lalia the two might have a slightly different gratitude protocol.

Ezri also noticed the look and smirked, but didn’t comment.

The actual day of the party saw a rush of setup. Asher, Bailey, and Clara arrived in advance, and the Saturday saw Sadie off from work, covering basics with Lalia before the others got there to help with the rest.

Unlike at Charlie’s, there was no little and pet space, no pool, and instead of print outs and pens, there was a tablet and stylus locked to a table in the front entry with easy access to virtual rule sheets and such. Food options were a little more robust and Lalia spent most of the day prepping them.

Bailey helping her in the kitchen was one of the first real conversations they’d had, relatively alone for any stretch of time. She found out how he’d come to be a single slave in the network, something that seemed odd, based on how people tended to come in through an Owner or training for one, moved around through sale.

She asked hesitantly when it had started to come up, “So how does that… work? How did it… happen? If you don’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Most people know.” He’d started with entry training and had ended up a personal service slave for an older man with a terminal illness who had passed on more quickly than expected, before deciding where Bailey was to go after his death. Already trained in network and known by them, but coming without the usual cost of someone pre trained, he was rather frequently approached and was biding his time, waiting for, “Master Charming, or whatever,” he laughed. “Mistress Charming would be fine, too.”

A last sweep of the house later showed everything looking good; a last sweep of the others had them looking prepared. Asher’s white ribbon was striking against his black leathers and dark skin; Clara and Sadie’s both wound around their collars; Bailey had tied his under his shirt collar like a bow tie.

Her own ribbon—her first gray one—had been tied by Ezri that afternoon, with a small smile, Lalia kneeling in front of her.

It felt strange to be in control of people more experienced than her, wrong. When asked what she thought about some supply placement or room’s readiness, she kept wanting to say, “Well, what do _you_ think?”

Now, Sadie was, as it turned out, literally, leashed to the bar. Asher and Bailey were waiting in their places in the dungeon and living room, Clara by the door. Lalia was keeping a general eye on things, and especially on the kitchen until Clara was there, though Sadie at the bar could at least literally see the state of the kitchen if not do much about it except text Lalia. As Ezri was planning being mostly downstairs at first, and Clara possibly needing help if the traffic flow got high, Lalia waited in a second spot in the entryway, as approved by Ezri.

The doorbell rang and Clara mouthed, “Showtime,” at her, before opening the door.

It was Jen, rather anticlimactically, since she was a guest Lalia had rapidly gotten used to, who didn’t need any assistance, and wasn’t keen to notice the slips Lalia was worried about. She didn't need anything by the door but gave Clara a quick kiss on the lips and went to find Ezri. 

After that, Dennis, then Travis. Clara nearly laughed when the third guest in a row was an Owner of someone already present, but contained it to a smirk, and he, at least, needed to sign off on the rules and be pointed to where people were starting to gather—living room.

Asher was probably getting anxious upstairs, and she sent him a text update once Travis had left the vicinity.

Dennis had agreed to be a Dungeon Monitor for when play picked up, and shortly after Lalia’s text, he headed to the dungeon area anyway—what she’d overheard was a pre shift safety check on the dungeon—any hazards—but he probably was going to see Asher, too.

Ezri had asked her if she was certified in CPR and first aid, which she’d said yes to, and she had good knowledge of the needed rules, scene safety techniques, consent practices, emergency handling, and such, but Ezri hadn’t prodded much at her being a DM, something a bit separate from serving the house. Lalia remembered that as another certificate area mentioned in the email.

More and more people started to flow in. She helped Clara when things were a bit crowded and did a silent round of the house when it wasn’t. The doors officially closed an hour later; it had slowed down enough by the forty-five minute mark that she left Clara, focusing on the kitchen, where at Sadie’s panicked text, she helped with the very popular bar, a little haphazardly as she hadn’t had much preparation for it herself, just an emergency glance over Sadie’s notes. “Thanks,” Sadie mouthed when they seemed unwatched.

She arranged and set out fresh snacks before leaving the kitchen, brought an extra tray to Bailey in the living room by texted request, and by then Clara had put away the front door items and was in the kitchen as bar backup and snack checker anyway.

Another round of the house for a bit of tidying turned into fetching a few drinks or snacks mostly for people upstairs, mostly requests passed on by Asher in a whisper. She was starting to get a bit tired on the stairs, barely managing the polite smile and curtsy and, “Yes, sir,” to a direct request that she got, having just gone back up the stairs again.

She reflected that it didn’t seem like a massive event, bustling but not crowded, yet service by five people, all but her tied to a specific area in one way or another, was more demanding than imagined. Some did come with their own s-types, but that didn’t ease some roles much.

Text from Clara:

_Do we want snack choices upstairs? Which ones?_

She answered with which ones to prep a tray of, and:

_I’ll be down in a minute and take it back up._

And she was, checking on the emptying living room and Bailey, taking some abandoned glasses, before going and taking the tray from Clara, murmuring a thanks.

“I gotchu.” Clara flicked her arm and went back to the flow of dishes coming in.

Lalia rolled her eyes and hoped no one saw the exchange and set the tray on a central side table upstairs.

Managing to catch Ezri’s beckoning gesture in the dungeon, the promise, “I won’t keep you long,” just to introduce her to a few people, over the buzzing, crackling, and squealing sounds of a nearby violent wand scene, an electric arc eye catching in the dim room. Play was definitely picking up and Dennis was doing his own patrol, currently eyeing a Top dripping colorful hot candle wax on a bottom.

 _Focus_ , she chided herself.

Another tidying sweep of the house, more dishes to Clara.

Ezri and Jen, both lacking their s-types being very available, had ended up in the kitchen for drinks before Lalia returned to it next, with a different drink refill order.

Clara’s hand on her arm tugged her around the corner to the empty entryway, startling her. “See that?” Clara asked her in a stage whisper, with a slight nod towards Jen and Ezri sitting close to each other at the kitchen island, laughing and talking in low voices. Jen had set the red leather jacket she'd worn most of the night nearby; they seemed a bit settled there.

“Yeah?”

“That’s their devious plan look. By the scraps I heard, probably you fucking someone. Not Ezri.”

Lalia’s heart resumed racing from where it had just calmed after Clara’s startling attention grabbing. She’d told Ezri she could, she would _._ And in the middle of chastity, too. She hoped she hadn’t gotten that predicted period early and unnoticed within the last few hours. “Any idea who?” She bit her lip hesitantly.

“I dunno,” said Clara, then added thoughtfully, “I hope it’s me,” and vanished back into the kitchen before Lalia could react.

She fetched the drink she’d come for. Ezri smiled at her when she caught her eye in a way that did seem, in Clara’s words, devious.

Clara could’ve been wrong—misinterpreted, misheard. It could’ve been a plan for far in the future, for all she knew. The conversation being between Ezri and Jen did in fact carry the implication that if Clara was correct, she might be the person in question.

She could do a lot worse than Clara. In fact, the part she minded the most was the waste of this happening mid chastity. And the possibility of an audience… Ezri wouldn’t have them do it mid party, though, not when they were both serving the house, right? Not during her first time as a majordomo without so much as a warning?

A quick bathroom trip told her that at least, she hadn’t gotten that period yet.

Now as she circulated the house and checked on things, she started pondering whom else it could be. It was occupying an unfair amount of her mind.

The other obvious conclusion was Jen herself, but while Clara was sometimes mildly flirty, Jen had shown no interest, and her interest seemed like it would be obvious if it were there. Charlie had shown what could be interpreted as interest, but she hadn’t seen him hang around Ezri tonight.

It was getting late. She prodded Asher towards sweeping up crumbs in the dungeon as play slowed down, providing a broom and dustpan, and emptied a basket of used cloth napkins she’d collected straight into the empty washing machine for later. People started to trickle out. She went ahead and started the wash. Travis unleashed Sadie from the bar and took her home with him. Asher and Bailey and Clara, as there were too few people to justify sticking to stations, helped with final cleanup; Bailey, and Asher, with Dennis, headed home.

When what remained was Jen and Ezri in the dungeon, and Clara and Lalia, finishing the very last cleaning in the kitchen, they found their way upstairs.

Ezri looked over when they reached the doorway and smiled. “Ah, there they are.” Made a beckoning gesture and Lalia knelt next to her.

Clara went to perch on the arm of the couch next to Jen, but Jen quickly dissuaded her of that, pulling her to the floor by the hair. Clara gave her a look of confusion after the initial yelp. Technically party protocol could still be in place, though Lalia had the feeling that wasn’t what Jen had cared about—if that was the case, Clara would’ve guessed before she’d done it.

“Just the girls we were talking about,” Ezri murmured, stroking Lalia’s cheek.

Lalia developed the perhaps not so sudden sense that Clara’s prediction—wish—had been right.

“The after party entertainment,” said Jen.

The realization had already hit Clara, too, though on her it appeared as a slight smirk rather than the deer in the headlights expression Lalia could feel herself making.

She could really do a lot worse than Clara.

“You two,” said Jen, gesturing between them as if this were necessary, “are gonna put on a little show for us.”

“You’ll both orgasm once but not without permission,” said Ezri.

“From whoever you normally need permission from.”

Lalia looked up at Ezri curiously, perking up at the idea of being allowed to come.

“I said you wouldn’t come while Sadie was here,” said Ezri. “And she’s not here, is she?”

“Oh—th-thank you, ma’am,” she got out, surprised although she understood the logic now, thrilled.

“You’re welcome.” She gave her a little nudge towards Clara.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie.” Clara smirked at her, crawling over, her hand sliding up Lalia’s thigh, and then her lips pressing against hers.

Lalia made some sound of surprise that quickly turned into a moan as Clara’s teeth tugged at her lower lip, and then as her tongue slid over hers, her other hand finding Lalia’s hair and Ezri commenting, “She likes when you pull it.”

She flushed and wasn’t sure what about the matter of fact statement was flustering—perhaps exactly how matter of fact it was—and whimpered as Clara’s hand tightened in her hair. Yes, she did like that. The idea of getting to come after a long week of use with no relief had heightened every sense, as did knowing that after this, she was still looking at another two weeks.

Clara eased her onto the floor, that other hand sliding farther up, under her clothes, finding her stupidly wet. Jen chided, “Oh, let us see what you’re doing.”

Clara tugged Lalia’s panties off of her as she shifted to help, fumbled with Lalia’s skirt and said, “All right, what’s the fucking secret,” which made Ezri laugh, and Lalia undid the side button and zipper for her, let Clara slide it off of her. She whimpered at the exposure and then at Clara’s fingers resuming their teasing touch, spreading lubrication and circling on her clit, panted as the heat, the need, built and built. Clara slipped one finger inside of her, then two, fucked her and kept her thumb in place on that nice sensitive spot—

“Oh—yes—there,” she whimpered, arching into Clara’s touch, eyes fluttering shut as the room spun, all the sense and sensation in her body rushing to a small selection of places.

“Faster, Clara,” said Ezri.

Clara complied, ramping up until Lalia gasped, “Please!”

“Not yet,” said Ezri. "Don’t stop.”

“Ah!” Lalia writhed and whimpered. “Please, fuck, I—I need—may—may I—please—ma’am—please!”

“Come.”

Lalia cried out and did, the orgasm gripping her hard and fast, pounding, pulsing waves of pleasure that kept pulling her back in until she whimpered, “Thank you, ma’am,” as it had just started to fade, and Clara slowed, and reality started to return.

Clara was shifting, out of her own underclothes and pulling her own dress up, lying next to her and nudging her head towards her.

Lalia, still panting in the aftermath of the orgasm, whimpered and followed the silent direction, settling herself between Clara’s legs and lapping at her, tiny flicking motions of her tongue and long strokes with her tongue flat against her, sucking her slick folds into her mouth, slipping her tongue back and forth along her entrance, salty sweet fluids mixing with her saliva.

She pressed her legs together at the sensitivity from the lingering effects of the orgasm, being watched, being needy from the week. Her skirt and panties were still discarded and her bruised ass exposed as she focused on what her mouth was doing.

She could vaguely feel Clara clench, and her hand tightening in her hair again as she grew wetter, which made Lalia whimper and Clara squirm at the sensation of the vibration, panting, growling, trying to roll her hips into the pleasure.

She found an angle that made Clara give a choked gasp and hiss, “There you fucking go,” and cry out. “Please,” she moaned. Lalia liked the sounds she made.

“No,” said Jen.

“Fuck—” She took this out on Lalia, nails slashing at her back, eliciting a whine.

“Ask properly.”

“Please may I come, Mistress?”

“You may.”

Clara ground against her hard, and Lalia tried to keep up what she was doing as best she could as Clara came loudly, easing and laying her head on Clara’s thigh as the other woman quieted to gasps for breath and whispered, “Thank you, Mistress,” with her eyes still closed. Her fingers unclenched from Lalia’s hair, brushed strands away from her face that had loosened from the updo as it got tugged on.

“Let’s give the girls a minute, shall we?” Jen asked, hopping up and stepping around them.

“We’ll be in the living room,” said Ezri, following her.

They caught their breath lying like that in silence, both half undressed on the dungeon floor, Lalia still between Clara’s legs with her head by her hip, Clara stroking her hair.

“So, that happened,” said Clara, blowing a strand of her own hair out of her face.

Lalia laughed. “We survived.”

“Oh, don’t act like you were fucking miserable.” Clara wiped her still rather damp hand on Lalia’s shoulder, which made her giggle again.

“Thanks,” Lalia whispered.

Clara rolled her eyes. “Anytime, sweetie.”


	14. Just In Case

Ezri returned to the living room from checking on Lalia and Clara in the dungeon shaking her head, smiling. “Fast fucking asleep. Spooning on the floor.”

“How sweet,” said Jen sarcastically. “There goes my designated driver.”

“I left a note that they can sleep. Late if they want.”

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but were very content to lie together in the post orgasmic glow, the exhaustion from the party, and going to Ezri and Jen had not been presented as urgent.

Clara flicked one of Lalia's bruises and said, “So, what did you do?”

Lalia flinched and laughed a little despite herself. “Doesn’t look like it was for fun?”

“I’ve seen you get beaten. This is clearly past your just for fun line.”

She’d kind of forgotten that. “I was condescending to Sadie.”

“She doesn’t seem like the sharpest knife anyway.”

“She’s nice. She tries. She’s weirdly good at some stuff.”

“Ezri doesn’t have surveillance in here, sweetie,” said Clara.

Lalia laughed. “I shouldn’t… anyway.”

“Probably not. I wouldn’t want another round like this.” Another poke at the marks. “I told you not to piss her off.”

“And I didn’t manage to listen to you either.”

“I’ll beat you another time.”

“You should,” she said, unable to help herself. “For fun.”

“I could ask,” said Clara. “I do beat people sometimes. For fun.”

“We all need hobbies.”

“Yeah, and we can’t all live at the fucking library.”

Lalia giggled. The words were softened significantly by Clara’s fingers in her hair. “Do you and Jen… do that?”

“Going to the library? Switching? Punishment?”

“All of the above.”

“We don't go to the library much. I don’t switch with her. She’s not a bottom let alone anything else, and she’d be a damn brat if she was, and that’d be fucking weird. She punished me once and decided not to do it again.”

“For what? I mean—if you’re willing.”

“You shared,” Clara shrugged, though Lalia had the feeling it wasn’t the same. She nudged her. “I can’t feel my leg.”

“Where should I move?”

“Come be little spoon.”

“We’ll fall asleep,” Lalia said, but did, having a hard time saying no to the warmth and weight of Clara pressed against her, the cocooned feeling of being pulled close, even if it was on the floor which was getting uncomfortable, and if in the end, they had different people to go back to. 

“They’re probably counting on that.”

“Hmm.” That was a fair thought, and sleepiness was blurring her judgment. The nighttime routines were largely in order, anyway. Long strands of Clara’s hair fell over her like a blanket; Clara was nearly as tall as Ezri, fit against Lalia similarly.

“So, that one time Jen punished me and said never again.”

“Right. So what did you do?” A teasing echo.

Clara laughed. “I ran away. Kind of. That’s not really where it started. I dunno. We were both drunk, for starters. Just, sat down to late dinner and drinks and then started bickering. We hadn’t been together very long all told. I’d teased a little too far, and she didn’t like it, and I got, I dunno, taken aback that she was so mad, and then it turned into the big, ‘Well, what does any of this mean if you don’t stop when I tell you to stop?’ and it was really fucking stupid, and I was probably in for it then, but… I don’t know how to stop being an idiot, you see, so when she was like, ‘Can you even do this?’ I said, ‘Maybe not,’ and grabbed the car keys and stormed out.”

“God.” To think she’d been so worried about telling off Sadie. "How far did you go?”

“Oh, it’s about a ten minute drive here.” She laughed. “I dunno. Ezri probably nearly had a heart attack. I was pounding on her door in the middle of the fucking night. It was the whole scene; it was pouring rain because of course it was, and I was just doing the drunk and soaking wet and crying on my ex’s doorstep thing, but she just kinda went, ‘Okay,’ and took my keys away and got me something dry to wear, and told me I was a fucking moron, in the most loving way possible, and I was like, ‘Yeah, yeah, I know.’”

“That… yeah.”

“I don’t think I like, ‘came here to my ex’s house’, y’know. It was more—she’d gotten me into this mess in a way and maybe she could get me out, or make me understand what the fuck I was doing. I figured someone who could almost talk me into high protocol could probably get it into my head why I wasn’t supposed to tease Jen. Or tell me something from training theory like, why I was doing this. She could’ve slept with me, if she wanted, I think. It really would’ve been the icing on the cake if I’d fucked my ex without permission. But I didn’t. But she managed to talk some common fucking sense into me.”

“Good?”

“So, she was like, ‘Okay, you’re gonna go to sleep, and I’m gonna take you home in the morning, and you’re gonna take whatever Jen does to you, because you’re being an idiot and you fucking love her.’ And I mean, Jen had been calling this whole time, of course, me, at first, but then Ezri, because she was tracking my phone and knew where I was. And Ezri talked to her and was like, ‘Yeah, I have your idiot, you can have her in the morning, you both need to cool down,’ and Jen was like, ‘Okay, at least she’s safe with you,’ and I dunno, then I started fucking bawling again because after all that she just wanted me to be safe, and Ezri just kinda patted me on the head and sighed at me until I fell asleep.”

Lalia laughed a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I deserved the sighing.”

“Hmm.” She was very sleepy and it was a strangely lulling bedtime story.

“And then, yeah, she fed me breakfast and took me home in the morning, and I had this awful fucking hangover, but I did all the sensible things finally and apologized and even pulled off the kneeling and the, ‘Yes, Mistress,’ thing and everything Ezri had tried to beat into me, and then Jen beat the shit out of me for like an hour and we both cried like the whole fucking time, and she was like, ‘You scared the hell out of me, how dare you,’ and the whole, ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you,’ and after all that, she didn’t want to ever do it again unless I did something equally dumb and dangerous. Which I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

“Yeah, well, you’re Ezri’s perfectly behaved little angel who wouldn’t have gotten half that far. If you ever need someone to tell you you’re a moron when you’re drunk and crying in the middle of the night though, I’m your girl.”

“Thanks.” She laughed.

They were quiet for a while, and Clara’s breathing had started to slow with sleep behind her when Lalia whispered, “I’m glad it was you tonight.”

“Me, too,” Clara yawned.

And then they were asleep.

Lalia woke in the sleepy, mild panic of realizing they’d never gone back to Ezri and Jen. Her phone said it was past three o’clock in the morning, and a note on the couch in Ezri’s handwriting said they could go ahead and sleep in.

Clara had stirred at Lalia’s sudden wakefulness, looked at the note, and, rubbing her shoulder, said, “Fuck, why did we sleep on the floor?”

Lalia had rapidly adjusted past any aches of sleeping on her typical arrangement—but that was with her fluffy blanket, on carpet. “I don’t know,” she said, also sore, usual circumstances apparently not having given her a great leg up on that.

She slipped back into the clothes she had discarded just to get to the bedroom—not like anyone in the house would mind, but she could imagine the comments on the choice to not put them back on if anyone was awake. Clara followed suit sleepily, rubbing at her eyes.

The house was dark and locked up and clean. Ezri and Jen were evidently fast asleep. Clara slipped into the guest room Jen had taken and Lalia went to the bedroom, trying to be quiet, setting out her blanket, changing into pajamas and such, examined the gray ribbon around her neck and wasn’t sure if she should take it off herself, so left it, then fell asleep quickly.

Ezri was gone when she woke in the morning. She dressed and washed, made the bed, folded her blanket back into place. The house already seemed to be in morning mode and it was just past the usual time for breakfast, so she sleepily followed the sound of Ezri and Jen’s voices downstairs.

Ezri was cooking and talking about the class they were going to that afternoon put on jointly by the local LUC and MAsT groups, smiling when Lalia came in. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to the stool next to Jen’s at the island. Lalia did, perking up a little at Ezri’s company. Ezri turned to Jen. “Are you going to wake Clara up soon?”

“I’ll give her a minute. Who did you say was teaching?”

“This year’s International Master and slave.”

“Good titleholders or bad titleholders?”

“Good,” said Ezri.

At Lalia’s confused frown, Jen said, “Pretty much every titleholder is either network or an SJW that's tried and failed to get someone in network arrested for human trafficking. And it’s too hard to prosecute someone for trafficking consenting adults without any of the means—force, deception, yadda yadda.”

Yes, she’d also spent some time Googling the _how do you consent to human trafficking_ question. “Right.” The titleholder bit made sense, too. And titleholders and the Leather Uniform Club and Masters And slaves Together groups also had high overlap.

Clara stumbled into the room sporting tangled hair and pajamas Lalia recognized as Ezri’s, mumbling, “Pancakes?” hopefully as she poured coffee in the direction of a mug with luck more than accuracy.

“Good morning, Clara,” said Ezri. “I’m glad to see you found something to wear.”

“You wish I hadn't,” said Clara in a tone that sounded like it was supposed to be lewd and came out sleepy.

Ezri rolled her eyes and started setting food on the table. Clara leant against Jen for the second before Jen got up to move to the table. Ezri set the last plate down and kissed Lalia’s cheek. “You may sit at the table.”

They all sat and ate. Jen and Clara got ready to leave while Lalia cleaned up breakfast, and departed. After, Ezri sat at the table again and said, “Come over here.”

Lalia went and knelt in front of her. Ezri removed the ribbon tied around her neck but produced a black one and replaced it. “For the class. They’re not using a ribbon system, but they’ll get it as an indicator.” Before the final knot, she added what almost looked like a very short keychain, a little metal circle with the network symbol on it. “In case.” Gripped her by the ribbon collar. “Mine.”

“Yours,” said Lalia, smiling a little at the possessiveness.

Ezri kissed her forehead. “How was last night? We didn’t get to talk much.”

“It… it was good. I think?”

“You think?”

“Well, that’s… for you to decide.”

Ezri smiled. “I think so.”

It was taking a minute for her thoughts on the party and beyond to come back to her. But she talked about the things that would probably end up in her debrief. Ezri’s hands wandered over her. “What did you… end up doing?”

“Nothing terribly exciting,” Ezri said. She talked about the party, laughed while recounting watching a roleplay scene mocking the tropes of porn set in a workplace, which had actually been more spanking than sex, but effectively brought all of the correct tropes to mind, complete with very good acting. “Did you see any of it?”

“I don’t think so,” said Lalia, not recalling it. “But it sounds entertaining.”

“Hmm. Ah. Speaking of entertainment. How was Clara?”

Lalia laughed at the phrasing. “She was very nice,” she said, and added, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank Jen.”

“I’ll mail her a card.”

“She’d like that. 'Dear Jen, thank you for letting me fuck your slave; she was very nice.'”

Lalia blushed. “I… enjoyed it.”

“I noticed. I enjoyed watching. Jen said she enjoyed it, too. It seemed to wear you two right out though.”

Lalia laughed. “We talked a little, and just kind of… passed out. Sorry?”

“I expected you would. Party and then sex would take it out of you. Did you sleep enough?”

Lalia nodded. She felt a bit tired, but not sleepy.

“Good. You didn’t stay up late talking?”

“No. It wasn’t very long.”

“About anything in particular?”

Lalia hesitated. “She told me about the time she ran away.”

“Ah. How did you get around to that from the sweet nothings?”

Lalia laughed, then lowered her gaze a little. “She asked why I had bruises. And we… traded stories.”

“Hmm.” Ezri tilted her head. “She reacted a lot like you did, in some ways, to… knowing that line was crossed. Worried less about punishment and more about being thrown out, dismissed. She asked that night if I would have her, if Jen didn’t want her. Just… as a transition. Get herself back together and find someone else.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her to calm down; Jen wasn’t leaving her.”

“Would you have done it?”

“Probably. I did think about it, when she asked. I didn’t think it was a likely scenario. I would’ve said yes, but… I didn’t want to plant a backup plan in her head, y’know? I knew she had what she wanted in Jen and I didn’t want her to have a foot out the door.”

“That makes sense.”

“Besides… I didn’t want to say it rashly. I knew… what had happened last time I was supposed to find her someone else. And she was…” She trailed off, then started again. “She has very… when she’s upset… specific… hmm. She’d kind of… I don’t know, came over and knelt next to me and put her head in my lap and was, y’know, drunk and crying but it was still clearly… a gesture of submission.”

“She didn’t mention that,” said Lalia, thinking. “Any of that.”

“She might have thought it was… would upset you.”

Lalia shrugged. “She said you probably could’ve slept with her but didn’t.”

“Oh, I know. And that would’ve been… the worst possible idea.” She was quiet for a minute. “Jen’s asked, since, if something happened to her—if I’d take Clara. I still don’t view it as likely, but I got to think about it more, and I said yes. I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about the opposite scenario.”

Lalia looked at her in confusion.

“Transitions,” said Ezri, “and if something were to happen to me, where you’d want to go.”

“Okay,” Lalia said slowly, thinking.

“I was thinking. Where I’d want you to be. You’d have plenty of resources and the ability to keep living here and whatnot, but emotionally. If I die at ninety, that’s one thing, and you might very well decide to not seek anything else at that point. But if I get hit by a bus in six months, or something. The plan could be modified, but having one currently in place would be good. I was thinking… I’d want you with Clara.”

Lalia blinked.

“Let me elaborate. So let’s say, six months or twenty years from now, I die. Or something else unforeseeable happens and I think you'd be better off elsewhere. At some point, with that timing, I’d expect you’d want to be owned again. You might not want it right away, but it’s in your nature, and in some reasonable timeframe, you’d want it.” She paused. “You’re giving me a look. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“No—no, I’m just… thinking. Go on.”

“At that point, the question is—what do you do in between? It’s a big shock to the system to be free when you’ve been owned, and then it’s another big shock to the system to be owned again, even if you’ve done it before. That can make its own havoc and the way to avoid that’s to dull the transition. That was what Clara asked me for that night—to give her a chance to not have to deal with sudden freedom and then sudden ownership; to go from owned, to not owned, but still given… a chance to submit. Keep the mindset. The peace that comes with it. Having someone look after you in grief and help you consider your options with a steadier footing, not rebound. Until you found the option you wanted. Whether it’s an Owner, or, after due transition and consideration, freedom. I believe Clara—even then, and more now—understands all of those needs and would be very able to help you fulfill them. I wouldn’t pick just anyone for it, but I’d trust her with my life and yours.”

Lalia nodded slowly. “Can you… do that?”

“Do...?”

“Leave me to Clara. I mean, the network—and Jen owning her—and if she’d agree…”

“She’s agreed, with Jen’s permission. I asked them not to mention it yet. But if that’s the decision we come to, and if the case arises, she'd do it. As far as the network—Switches do exist. It’s somewhat uncommon in network at the power dynamic level, and it’s a little complicated at events or if sales got involved—but it happens.”

“Okay.” Still thinking. “I… if that was… I think it would be a good plan.”

“I won’t ask for a commitment now,” said Ezri. “And I do want your full agreement on whatever plan we go with. But I wanted to put it out there as something that could be in the Ownership contract.”

Lalia nodded.

She pondered the conversations—with Clara, with Ezri—throughout the day. She did an event debrief for the party; they went to the class—and it was nice, a thorough presentation complete with PowerPoint—but didn’t linger long after, home before Sadie’s return in the late afternoon. She messaged Clara and asked about it. What she thought that case scenario would look like. Clara kept it light and a little teasing, _Well, what would you want me to be doing?_ with a wink emoji, and the interspersed meme as she switched between tabs, but mostly her answers were reassuring.

Lalia worried, though—not about Clara’s answers but about the need for them. They hadn’t even signed the Ownership contract yet and they were thinking about its termination, not because either of them wanted it, but because things happened. She knew it was practical—she understood the reasoning—but it made her feel ill at ease to have spent most of the day with it on her mind.

Feeling oddly wound and down, she sought Ezri, reflected that when she was upset, she wanted Ezri, and how badly that would serve her if there came a day she wasn’t there. And they still hadn’t even signed the Ownership contract yet.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Ezri beckoned her in from her office doorway. “You look… upset.”

Lalia shook her head, kneeling in front of her.

Ezri stroked her hair with a puzzled and concerned expression. “Come here.” She gestured, and cradled her on her lap, one steadying arm at her waist, the other hand skimming her back.

“Just… overthinking,” she mumbled into Ezri’s shoulder.

“Hmm.”

That didn’t answer much—she knew it.

“Worrying, about… the plan, in the Ownership contract—if something happened.”

“I thought it might bother you to talk about it. That’s why I didn’t want Jen or Clara to mention it. But you don’t have to figure out what you’d do right now.”

“No, no—just… needing it.”

“Still worried I’ll cast you out at second error?” She asked the words lightly, raising an eyebrow at her as she drew back.

“No,” she said. “Well, yes, but I know it’s not—and it’s not… the same thought. Just… I just worry. Like I’ve said.”

“I know,” said Ezri gently. “I’ve got you.” She pressed kisses against her face. “I love you. You’re mine. You don’t have to worry. Leave that to me.” Swayed them a little, hummed a soothing melody, as Lalia settled against her again, let her heart rate slow, breathing steady. They talked more once she calmed a little, about nothing in particular. Pasts and futures and the class and leash training upcoming and what was for dinner tomorrow.

"Had Jen—Clara—asked before?" Lalia asked. "About... last night's... thing?" 

Ezri laughed a little at the wording. "Oh, loosely proposed. Jen, if you were wondering, but on Clara's behalf. Clara... implied." 

"I mean, was it a... supposed to be. I don't know. Someone easy... for me? Not, like, an intimidating stranger?" 

"Not particularly." 

"So it was just... whoever asked?" 

"I mean, I certainly have limits on who I'd have you do something like that with. But, no, it wasn't about easiest for you. It was mostly just... the most entertaining for me. And Jen and Clara always have first dibs." She poked her, smiled. "Most of the people who have asked or implied it wouldn't have been foreign to you, either. It's more common to ask your friends than strangers, and much more common in a case where you get a yes. Charlie also implied the question heavily, for what it's worth." She tucked a strand of hair behind Lalia's ear with a slight frown. "You seem very concerned about my decision making process." 

"No—I... no. I was just... curious. This is—beyond my experience. I didn't want... you to pick based on me too much. But... I don't know what the norms are." 

"Hmm." She offered a kiss on the forehead and they were quiet for a bit. 

They moved through evening routines, and Ezri sat on the bed as they approached the time for sleep and said, “Come here,” and when Lalia approached, guided her to straddle her lap, caressed her, asked, “Are you done worrying for tonight?”

“Maybe,” Lalia said, distracted by Ezri’s hand high on her thigh, under her nightgown.

“Good.”

Lalia gave a shaky sigh as Ezri’s fingers slipped back and forth between her legs.

"Other things occupying you, maybe?”

She was surprisingly wet. “Maybe.” She shifted against Ezri’s touch, wanting more, knowing it would only build need that wouldn’t be relieved, wanting more anyway.

Ezri’s other hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, eliciting a whimper, her lips at Lalia’s neck, nipping and then giving a feather light kiss and drawing back. “Any reason you’re so needy tonight, my darling?”

“Mm, oh—fuck,” said Lalia, in realization rather than arousal.

Ezri looked at her in confusion, stopped her ministrations, slipping her hand away, and then noticed the blood staining her fingers. “Ah.”

Lalia rested her forehead on Ezri’s shoulder and mumbled, “That stupid app tried to warn me.”


	15. Leashed

Ezri had never done leash training before; it was something that Owners who cared about it frequently did themselves, something she’d benignly neglected in her prior attempt at entry training. It wasn’t rocket science, but for a first go, she wanted a second opinion. Travis had requested it, so she sent Lalia a list of people.

_Ask if any of them recommends someone who does once off leash training. Try to get a price range. Send me the answers._

_Yes, ma’am._

It wasn’t a long list, and all but two came back with nothing. Paige had someone, and so did someone she’d seen at both of Charlie’s parties and the recent class.

She sent them to Ezri, who later told her she’d selected one and scheduled for tomorrow, for her and Lalia—if that as a test went well, she’d schedule training for Sadie and Travis.

Lalia was pleased by how the rest of Sadie’s training was going; she was actually getting useful in the kitchen, able to be quickly delegated to. She’d prepared meal and snack trays by herself a few times now, as well.

Branwen, the selected leash trainer, arrived during Sadie’s work hours the next day, and said that leash training was more psychological than many realized, and she liked to meet with the Owner briefly to get in their head a little.

Ezri both respected the idea and knew it held the potential for a lot of nonsense—so she indulged the request with skepticism.

“How did you come to leash training?” Ezri asked, unable to help wanting to ask the first question.

“So, I used to do entry training,” said Branwen, tossing a sleek black ponytail over her shoulder. “It’s not really my thing anymore. I got a slave of my own and didn’t want the constant hubbub. So, I got a day job and do once offs in the stuff you can. So—you’re doing non entry training, but trying leashes out with your slave today?”

“Kind of. She’s—Lalia’s—in consideration training. Sadie is someone else’s here for training for a few weeks. Just a good opportunity. But my main focus is going to be entry, once I collar Lalia.”

Branwen developed a curious look. “Interesting time to get into entry training. Opposite of what I did,” she laughed. Still, it prompted explanation. Maybe justification.

“I’m training her to be the majordomo for it. And do the secretarial stuff. Do some training herself.”

“Interesting. Like business services, basically.”

“That and everything else.”

“Mm. So, how did you two meet?”

“At Temptation.”

“Doesn’t seem like your style.” Branwen tilted her head curiously.

“It isn’t. It clearly wasn’t hers, either. That’s how we got to talking.”

“And then more than talking?”

Ezri laughed. “And then more than talking.”

“So, she’s new? Area, network, scene, kink?”

“New to the network via me and relatively new to the scene. Limited experience in kink. Did extensive self study in case it was useful.”

Branwen smiled. “So, very service oriented—both of you, it sounds like—how did _you_ come to leash training, then?”

“Travis—Sadie’s Master—requested it for her, and I figured we’d go first. We’re involved with those sorts of events enough it’ll come up at some point. While I was looking into it for that… I think it caught my interest for the first time.”

“For?”

She’d been trying to answer that question herself. “The… almost as a training technique in itself. The headspace. Subtle cues. It requires a lot of mindfulness, which is something we’re both very interested in. As a… point of focus.”

“Mm.” Branwen looked thoughtful. “So, mindful… attentive? Nothing too obviously commanding. Not into it for pet play or humiliation?”

“No. It’d be… a background protocol thing, not the center of attention.”

“All right…” Trailed off, thinking. “So, is there a type of leash you want to train with?”

“I wanted to ask… she’s under consideration. I don’t want to put anything too close to a real collar or leash on her yet. We’ve been using party ribbons when needed. I know you mentioned bringing options for scenarios like that.”

“Of course. So, we also do party ribbons for leashes and collars we want to be very temporary and non offensive to the Ownership ones. Some use them for parties with a leash protocol, too. You can tie a long length of the same ribbon into a set pretty easy once she’s with us. You’ll want to do the length you imagine using. Black ribbon okay?”

“That works.”

“Perfect. About how long are you thinking?”

“Five and a half feet.”

“Perfect. So—” she handed her a tablet “—you’re gonna need to check off the skills or commands you want to teach, and if there’s any you want a different signal for than the recommendation, you can check the other box and type it in. You can add any extras to the end.”

Ezri browsed the list, thought, and checked boxes. Said aloud, “Some of these that would be relevant without a leash—do you have recommended hand signals that translate without it?”

“Sure,” said Branwen. “Just check the other box for those and we’ll figure out what works once we get going.”

Ezri did, added a note of _already trained for off leash positions/heeling_ for reference.

After that, it was just payment—a little device that connected to the tablet took cards.

“Perfect. I’ll send you a write up for reference later with all the commands taught and signals and such. Any other thoughts, questions?”

“Not really.”

“Perfect. So,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, “any ideas on what that final collar and leash’ll look like?”

Ezri laughed. “I’ll show you.”

She did. Branwen enthusiastically approved.

The three settled in the dungeon, not out of any need for the atmosphere, but because it had some oddly good stretches for pacing.

Branwen showed Ezri how to tie the ribbon collar so it trailed into a leash, with a loop at the end for a handle. Checking it was secure, she said, “So, let’s get started. Normally we’d start with a presenting for leashing position, or unleashing, but it sounds like you’d already have something for that?”

“Yes,” said Ezri.

“Perfect. And you said you’re doing, only you remove it or put it on?”

Nod.

“Perfect. So, why don’t we go ahead and start in what that presenting position would be, once the leash was on.”

Ezri nodded at Lalia, who knelt in front of her—without the leash loose to present, it was simply her standard kneeling position.

“So, first things first—the up command. Firm pressure upward with the leash. No yanking. Apply slowly. You’ll figure out how much she feels how fast. You shouldn’t need much.” Gestured. Ezri pulled up on the leash carefully. More expecting it than processing the feeling, Lalia stood.

“Perfect. We’ll test recall of commands out of context later—requires a bit more mindfulness. For now, establishing what they are. Back to where we started—just firm pressure down. There’s one more version of ‘up’ to practice from there.”

Tug down. Lalia knelt again.

“So, this one’ll be ‘kneel up’—some people like to use this as or with the leashing or unleashing position, depending on heights. It’ll be two quick tugs up. Fast enough she doesn’t start for just ‘up’. Firm, but not hard.”

Another gesture. Ezri tugged on the leash twice. Lalia shifted to not be sitting back on her heels. They didn’t actually have a kneeling up position, but Ezri gave an approving nod at the way her hands went behind her back out of instinct.

“So, kneel and up from here will be the same, but you might need to grip closer to her. For now, we’ll go back to up.”

Ezri tugged up, slower, gripping the leash at a spot farther down as well for a moment. Lalia stood.

“From stand to kneel up, you’ll want to do two quick tugs down, exactly opposite of kneel up from kneeling.”

Two tugs down. Little too hard. Ezri felt it at the same moment as Lalia’s grimace, but the girl went back to the kneel up position without comment.

“Let’s go back to up.”

Tug up, more careful; Lalia stood, mentally reviewing the so far simple set of leash gestures.

“So, one tug forward’ll be heel. You’ll want to watch that it’s really forward, not up or down. Two tugs, quick, will be ‘walk beside me’. Stop, in same place as heel—will have you lower the leash and point two fingers at the ground. Stop, beside you—raise the leash. If you have a position to stop in…”

“Waiting position,” she said to Lalia.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, automatic, but very conscious of Branwen watching the interaction. The information wasn’t complex, but it was a lot at once, and she was grateful for some familiarity.

"So, let’s try those out,” said Branwen. "Just pace around a bit.” Gestured at the stretch of dungeon. “Don’t do the dog show thing. No white people in the crosswalk jog either. Just walk normally.”

Ezri tugged forward on the leash once; Lalia followed a pace behind and to the right. Gesture for stop at heel position. Lalia did. Ezri looked back at her and tugged twice; she caught up to her side and walked beside her. Ezri held the leash up and Lalia barely noticed it in time in the corner of her eye, skidded to a stop at her side, cursing herself mentally.

“So, you’ll probably want to do that a bit in front of you if you’re already walking together, so she can see it,” Branwen noted. “One more time?”

They tried again; the gesture a bit in front of her was caught a lot faster. Ezri resumed with one tug, turned near the edge of the dungeon back towards Branwen, said, “Right side,” at the same time Lalia realized she hadn’t looped around her and had ended up on her left. She moved.

“Try the first few ones too,” said Branwen after another loop of pacing. “You’ll probably want to signal for stop before you do either of the down ones.”

In a few more steps, Ezri signaled for stop beside me—Lalia did; swiftly after, two tugs down; she knelt upright where she was. Tug up. Heel. Walking. Stop where she was. Kneel. “Good girl,” Ezri said with a stroke of her hair.

“You’ll want to practice now and then by yourselves,” said Branwen. “I should have that written guide to you today.”

Lalia sighed in relief mentally that someone was writing this all down.

Branwen worked with them on hand signals to use without the leash involved for many of the same commands as they might want them—kneel, kneel up, stop beside me, stop behind me, heel, walk beside me. Ezri had used vague, not codified gestures before, mostly just for _kneel._ Branwen kept notes on the tablet and sent the write up as promised, then left after being scheduled for Travis and Sadie, who was still at work.

Ezri said to Lalia, “Also, schedule a private practice for us and one for you and Sadie about every three days from then until Sadie leaves. Fifteen minutes each.”

“Yes, ma’am. … For me and Sadie, ma’am?”

“This is something you can do the follow up training in once Branwen and Travis are done tomorrow. Travis already approved it being done by either of us with their equipment. I’ll get you their write up, too, assuming their signal set is slightly different.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She wondered, both at the idea of training Sadie in something so… directly dominating, especially wondered at Ezri’s faith after previous incidents, and wondered at Travis’ casual attitude towards who had his slave on his leash, while Ezri hadn’t even let Branwen touch her or used anything resembling a real collar or leash just yet.

Ezri clearly saw her mind spinning and at least some of what was in the thought tornado. “I’m a lot more possessive than Travis,” she murmured, twisting the now loose length of ribbon she’d used for the leash around one hand. “I can be convinced to share, but… in some ways, I like to be very clear about who you belong to at the end of the day.” Her other hand traced Lalia’s throat.

Oh—

The statement did things to her; not necessarily sexual things, but she definitely felt the frisson that ran up her spine, her heart skipping a beat, and the suddenly strong urge towards kneeling.

She didn’t get to indulge it, backed into the wall by the front door, Ezri’s fingers tightening at her throat. “Remind me, how much breath play have you done?”

Lalia shook her head slightly; none; Ezri's fingers slipped around her throat sometimes but had never pressed before; it was the sort of thing that would’ve terrified any other partner she’d had, especially with the asthma—

“Hmm. First time for everything.”

She made a small choked sound; she felt the pressure at her throat and the lack of air getting through, a little light headed, but the pain in her chest was light, just starting to build…

She gasped for breath, refilling what wasn’t there, when Ezri let her go, stumbled in place a little. Ezri steadied her. Lalia became aware her extremities were a little numb, the lack of feeling the floor under her throwing her off, her hand clutching Ezri’s arm.

“Well, you don’t have a very high tolerance for it,” Ezri said, with a hint of concern.

“Asthma,” panted Lalia.

“I… remembered that,” said Ezri, in a manner which indicated she had not, in fact, remembered Lalia had asthma. “You’re all right?”

Lalia nodded.

“Do you want your inhaler?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she murmured, managing to let go of her as feeling returned. “It was… nice. Just… wasn’t sure what to expect. But I liked it. Just might want to… tread carefully.”

“It was nice, hmm?” Ezri’s hand sliding up her skirt, a testing prod between her legs. She was stupidly wet and she knew it, even with her period already over, whimpering at the lightest of touches; the remaining chastity period, with Ezri’s constant attention, was going to kill her before the asthma had the chance. “My forgetting your medical history aside, what did you like?” Stroking her.

Lalia’s eyes flitted around, wondering exactly how busy with work Sadie was upstairs. “I like ‘forgetting your medical history aside,’” she said, not entirely sure what that meant as she said it, trying to come up with an answer before the questioning:

“Hmm?”

“I like that you didn’t think too much,” she tried. “Before or after.” Ezri’s fingers circled her clit, now slick and sensitive; she gave a small whine. God, she hoped Sadie was busy, even if Lalia herself was the only one who minded. “I mean—safety and all. But…”

“I didn’t do enough to seriously hurt you anyway but disregarded you in a very real way?”

“That—oh…” Leaning against Ezri’s touch. Ezri’s other hand in her hair, pulling. Pain feeding arousal. Who cared where Sadie was, anyway?

“Hmm?”

“That. And—the—the being controlling—and my needing—desperation—”

“Starting to need things besides air, sweetheart?” Ezri murmured close to her ear.

“Yes—ah… I… yes.” The words came breathy without a hand at her throat. She didn’t plea. It wasn’t her place to plea when the firm no was already in place. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop twitching at every light brush of her clit.

“Hmm. Suppose I should stop, then.” Ezri had stopped touching her before she could protest, which wasn’t really a proper response either.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she whispered instead, eyes fluttering open, because the withdrawal felt as much like a permission denial as a statement of no, and permission grants or denials were met with that or a curtsy, which she didn’t have room to do.

Ezri laughed. “You’re quite welcome.” She kissed her cheek. “You should get to that scheduling,” she said. “And update your resume file while you’re at it with the leash training and anything else while you’re there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And after you and Sadie are done cleaning up dinner, I want you to come to my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She was curious, but didn’t ask.

“Good girl.” Her fingers slipped in her hair again and pulled. “ _My_ good girl.” Kissed her forehead and left.

Sadie really was improving in the kitchen and dinner went smoothly; after, Lalia went to Ezri’s office.

Ezri gestured for her to kneel without looking up from what she was doing, typed for another minute or two and then sighed, turned to her, and handed her a legal pad and pen from the desk. “I want you to write down your thoughts on chastity so far. I don’t care what formats you do it in, essay or list or whatnot, and as long as it’s mostly legible, I’m not handing out penmanship demerits. They’re not lines. I just want you writing in pen so I can see any edits.” Smile. “You should try to continuously write something for at least fifteen minutes. I’ll set a timer for then. After that, I’ll give you up to another fifteen if you like. Understood?”

Lalia’s mind was trying to latch onto a thought to start with. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl. Fifteen minutes begins now.”

Fifteen minutes, as it turned out, was a very long time. Her hand was cramping and her mind coming up blank several minutes shy of the timer. Her eyes ran over the mess of what she’d already written, at first a list, then sentences of elaboration, looking for threads to continue. Aware of Ezri’s occasional glance, she managed to scribble down something every several seconds still until the timer went off. Ezri looked at her. “Done? Or do you want more time?”

“Done.”

“Good. Let me see.”

Lalia handed her the pen and legal pad; she’d used the first two sheets, three pages. Ezri skimmed all of it and then went back to a paragraph on the back of the first sheet, said, “Tell me more about this,” and pointed.

“I…” If she’d had more to say on it, she would’ve written it down.

“You wrote that earlier today you felt the urge to beg permission to come, and didn’t, because you felt it wasn’t your place during chastity. Then noted that I never told you it wasn’t allowed, but didn’t follow up on why you didn’t feel it was your place anyway.”

Lalia frowned. She hadn’t followed up on it because she didn’t have a cogent explanation. “I… it just seemed, like trying to get out of something. I wouldn’t have wanted you to say yes, deep down. Because then you’d be… relenting. Without reason.”

“Or with only the reason that you wanted me to.”

“Yes. Which… isn’t a great reason. Thinking of my wants. Like—you knew, going in, that you’d be teasing me and making me want orgasms I couldn’t have. It wasn’t one of those things where you wanted… me to not want the thing I was denied. That wouldn’t have… been any fun for you, or really done much for me. You wanted me to want it, so you knew that I did—pointing that out… wouldn’t do anything to change your mind. And if it did… I didn’t want it to.”

“Hmm. Does that stop you from asking during sex normally?”

“I mean, I do ask,” she pointed out.

“Yes. But does it… slow you down?”

“Yes. And if you tell me no once… I don’t ask again. Even if it’s just, in the moment, not, three weeks of chastity—two? Or whatnot.”

“Hmm. If I say not yet, you’ll ask again.”

“Yes. That’s… basically prompting me. I think.”

“You’ve needed my permission for nearly two months and haven’t asked to masturbate yet. Or asked for more or specific sex or play.”

“… Yes.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t needed… we’ve been doing a lot.”

“So you have never, once, in the last two months or so, felt the urge when I wasn’t already so engaged with you?”

“Well, no… I just… not… not badly enough to ask.”

“So there’s a threshold, somewhere, of how badly you have to need it to ask.”

“Yes.”

“I never set such a threshold,” she murmured, then added; “it would be hard to measure. So, you won’t ask to masturbate, or initiate, but you’ll ask to orgasm during sex if I have not previously solidly said no.”

“It’s not that I _won’t,”_ she started, and Ezri said:

“Lalia. You’re getting defensive.”

She was. She knew it. She wasn’t sure why. She felt the implication that Ezri didn’t like that she wasn’t asking for such permissions, and she kept thinking— _but I don’t need them, but you didn’t tell me I had to ask for them regardless._

“Don’t. I need those guard walls down.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything.” It came out worse than she meant it. She lowered her head a little. “Ma’am.”

“Stand up.”

Fuck, she’d done it now. She stood. Whispered an apology. Ezri stood with her, tugged at Lalia’s shirt. “Off.”

Bewildered, she took it off, and gave it to Ezri when she held out her hand for it.

“This too.” Her skirt.

She removed that, too, and gave it to her.

“Good girl.” She tilted her head up. “When I ask you to expose yourself to me, in one way or another, you will do so with exactly that little hesitation. Understood?”

Lalia nodded, still trying to find words; it wasn’t just the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin.

Ezri sat again, nodded at the clothes. “You may have those back later.” She gestured for her to kneel.

Lalia did, with a slight flush in her cheeks—feeling very on display in more ways than one.

“So tell me, why you will ask to orgasm during sex but not for the other things.”

“Context,” she said. “You like when I beg during sex.”

“Better,” said Ezri. “So asking during sex doesn’t interfere with…” looking at another paper “… the feeling of your body, including reactions, being for my pleasure. A feeling which you enjoy.”

“Yes.”

“So, I said ask and you said beg. Tell me… about that distinction.”

“Well,” Lalia said slowly, “like I said, I don’t ask… the second I start to want it. I wait… until…”

“Until you are ready to _beg_ rather than ask.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And then it’s… I think—you enjoy it more. Me begging versus being able—to calmly ask. When I… make that request.”

“I see. There’s a lot of assumptions on this thought train. That can be dangerous. You’re largely correct, but I don’t want you enforcing rules I never made on yourself. Or on others.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So it basically comes down to—you don’t want to violate the idea that you exist for my use. You masturbating, or asking to, or asking for play or sex, does nothing for me, and if I wanted it I’d be happy to initiate it, so you don’t do it. You won’t ask to orgasm until you beg, because I enjoy that but not calm asking or just telling you, and you won’t beg if I have already said no, because it would be protesting, which I don’t like.”

“Yes.”

Ezri thought on this. “You may put this on,” she said, handing her the shirt.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said softly, not sure exactly which vulnerability had earned it back, but gratefully putting it on in the air conditioning anyway.

“So, is this something that would be more headspace enforcing as a rule, or is it kind of about that self enforcement and restraint?”

“I… I like the idea of it being a rule,” she said, though exactly what the rule would be phrased as was evading her right now. “I don’t—it’s still self restraint, even if it’s someone else’s rule.”

Ezri nodded. “All right. Considering how you feel about this, we’re going to say that you don’t ask to masturbate, or ask for or initiate sex or play. And if I've said no to you orgasming in the current situation, you are not to ask again—actually, apply that to any other permissions as well. I’ll occasionally offer you opportunities for masturbating. Anything else stays the same, including the clause where you may formally raise issue with a standing rule to bring it to my attention in a proper medium, which I still may or may not act on. Does that sound like something you would enjoy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You can consider that in effect. In addition to the agreement that you won’t orgasm while Sadie’s here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri gave her the skirt back shortly after and let her go.

Branwen was back soon enough, working with Travis and Sadie alone. Sadie was giggly from getting to see Travis for a while, and they swapped leash training stories as they prepped dinner. Sadie had apparently done well at it, and Travis was surprised and pleased.

Tonight they tried another go at a meal with the guest protocol set, a dinner with bar service managed by Sadie where they both served Ezri and a small handful of guests; Branwen and Travis were lingering after leash training thanks to the weekend.

It went well. Travis was very happy that day.

Still, she was able to see the leash training up close when it was time for her to do a followup with Sadie.

It was incredibly awkward to get started.

“All right, so, ah, let’s start with your presenting the leash position.”

It looked a lot like Lalia’s—except with knees together instead of apart—and was pulled off well. She took the leash, and with nervous fumbling, attached it to Sadie’s collar. Tugged up gently. Sadie stood.

They ran through all of the commands Sadie and Travis had set with Branwen, most only slight in variation, tried different combinations, repeating anything fumbled—not too much. A few things like turns or a moment of moving too fast, going for kneel instead of kneel up before the second tug down, or whatnot—some of which was also Lalia’s inexperience on this side of the leash. Overall, mindfulness training had served Sadie well.

The fifteen minutes thankfully went rather quickly, ending in unleashing. The leash was Travis’ and for now, lived with Sadie.

Lalia’s reports to Ezri were looking good and Ezri was also fairly pleased with Sadie’s training. Lalia helped her update her slave resume files with advice from Ezri, as well as some final paperwork.

Sadie left with many thanks and the promise to stay in touch, the same from Travis.

They were out the door only a few minutes before Lalia found herself thrown over the arm of the couch in the living room, Ezri sliding her clothes out of the way, nudging her legs open, touching her, stroking her for probably less than a minute before, wound up from weeks of need, Lalia whimpered, “Please.”

“Come.”

Lalia did, crying out; sudden pleasure flooded her, pulsing under Ezri’s touch, escaping her in long wails of relief. Ezri’s fingers didn’t slow. A few moments later, before she’d found words or breath beyond, “Thank you, ma’am,” still barely processing they were alone, Ezri ordered:

“Come again.”

Her body obeyed before she’d processed the order. She whimpered in its aftermath. “Th-thank you, ma’am.” And whimpered again realizing Ezri hadn’t stopped, fingers pumping inside her now.

“Again,” Ezri growled, smacking her. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Oh—” The pulsing of pleasure spread far beyond where Ezri touched her with this one, and gasps replaced cries, Ezri’s nails down her back, Lalia panting, “Thank you, ma’am,” Ezri ordering:

“Keep going.”

“Fuck—” This orgasm took a few moments to build up, but she came just as hard as she fell over that edge, Ezri’s fingers tight in her sweaty hair, the thanks barely audible.

“Good girl.”

Ezri inside her, and she was perfectly wet, but too exhausted and breathless and hot to do anything but lie limp over the couch and take it; still, her body kept building up to that edge, and she thought— _oh, not again—_ but the plea fell from her lips anyway.

“Slut,” Ezri told her, yanking at her grip on Lalia’s hair. “Come again.”

Lalia did. She was obscenely sensitive by now, the orgasm almost aching; she knew she was multi orgasmic, but this was ridiculous. She whispered the thanks with her forehead resting on the couch. Wondered if Travis and Sadie were even off the driveway.

Moments later, “Would you like to come again?” Ezri asked, speed building.

Lalia whimpered something incoherent, unable to decide if it was a plea for yes or a plea for no.

“Come. One more time. Come hard for me.”

Lalia came. “Th-thank you—m-ma’am.” Fuck, she wanted air. Cold air. Sweat dripped down her skin. Ezri slowed, grip loosening, her own breathing labored, all post orgasm indicators of hers.

“Good girl,” she said, pressing a kiss to the back of Lalia’s neck, sliding out of her, fixing her own clothes for the moment.

Lalia slid back from the couch into something that probably resembled her usual kneeling position, eyes closed and head low in exhaustion, and unable to properly see it.

Ezri ran a hand over her hair, and Lalia nuzzled her leg, both silent, breathing.

Lalia, for one, was grateful for the quiet, private moment in the living room. Gave a contented hum and pressed a kiss near Ezri’s knee.

“Mine,” said Ezri, gathering Lalia’s tangled hair back from her neck, cool air on her skin.

“Yours.”

Ezri leant over and kissed the top of her head. “You may get yourself together and go do whatever it is slavegirls do.”

Lalia laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”


	16. Temptation and Reality

Ezri found Lalia in the kitchen, on the floor, scrubbing at a spot on the tile that wouldn’t budge. An apron covered most of the front of her uniform, pre approved for such tasks, currently bearing the brunt of water, cleaning chemicals, and debris.

“Having fun there, sweetheart?”

Lalia jumped out of her skin. “I, ah, was just… cleaning,” she said, in a way that would’ve sounded like an unconvincing lie if it weren’t obviously true, a bit of a deer in the headlights expression.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” said Ezri.

Lalia lowered her gaze a little and then went back to what she was doing.

Ezri smiled, watching her. She clearly wasn’t used to being in certain positions yet—she’d mostly done the heavier chores alone, and had told more than one story of trying to sneak in such service for prior partners who were mostly horrified she’d put in so much—time, energy, dignity?

She had no reason to hide such tasks now, though, as they were at Ezri’s assignment—though to be fair, what she had said here was to sweep and mop—so this was a little above and beyond, finding what those tools didn’t catch.

She paced closer and Lalia dutifully pretended she didn’t notice, yelped when Ezri yanked on her hair, damp with sweat, pulling her back to look up at her until it hurt her neck.

“You’re a good girl,” said Ezri, leaning to kiss her forehead. “And I love you. I just thought you ought to know.”

She released her and went to walk out, just managed to catch the, “I love you, too,” as her phone rang.

She picked it up as she headed upstairs.

“—Ezria, dahling, you know how you promised you wouldn’t meet a nice girl and disappear on us~?”

“I might recall such a promise, Jenevieve.”

“Lovely! We’ll pick you both up at eight for Temptation. There will be no talking us into staying in and letting you Jewish mother us into dinner.”

“We’ll pick _you_ up at eight.”

“So you get to pick when we go home?”

“So Clara will spend the first two hours showing off the cats. I’m allotting twenty minutes per cat.”

“Hmph. Fine. But if you’re one minute late, I’m beating someone. I’ll decide who then.”

“Eight on the dot,” Ezri promised, and hung up.

“—So this is Professor Bananas,” said Clara at eight-fifteen, handing Lalia a fat orange cat who meowed indignantly at being handed to her as Lalia’s arms sagged under the weight. Clara looked ready for Temptation in a black dress with ribbons that wove around her neck and collar, though she brushed orange fur off of it. Jen was in a version of her usual, black jeans and tank top with red leather jacket and boots.

“Ah, hello,” Lalia said to the cat.

Professor Bananas meowed again, and jumped from her arms, startling Detective Hounds, a dark tabby.

She’d gotten a tour of the house—which was just as large but somehow a lot dimmer than her and Ezri’s, as tidy but more crowded. No dungeon. “We don’t host much,” Clara told her, stepping over General Furrington. But there was plenty of room for all six cats. The master bedroom was left empty and apparently set up scene by scene for play not suited elsewhere, which Lalia found interesting, while a different bedroom functioned as where they actually slept. Jen had an office for work and a room for a side business; there was a guest room despite the not hosting claim, and a room for Clara much like Lalia's office.

Then she was introduced to the cats, all with names that sounded vaguely like scene names for some kind of Dominant furry—which their humans were very well aware of—including Marquis de Whiskerton, Lord von Whiskeridoo, and Dr. Fluffypants Fuzztail.

The Lundqvist-Chen household was a very interesting place.

As they finally walked into Temptation, Lalia said, “I haven’t heard this song since like middle school.”

“Uh, this song came out like a decade ago,” said Clara, then looked at her. “Fuck.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Ezri.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all perverts,” said Jen. “That’s why we’re here.”

Ezri hadn’t been back to Temptation, since the night with Lalia—a decent stretch for Jen and Clara letting her out of it. She remembered a lot of that evening very well.

Clara had tapped her arm and given a slight nod towards the girl with the strawberry blonde hair in the gray dress.

“I know,” said Ezri.

“Green wristband. No collar,” said Clara cheerfully.

“I know,” Ezri repeated, frowning. Her eyes flitted back to the girl. “That posture is… unlikely.”

Clara laughed at the phrasing. Jen slid back into the booth on her other side. “Who are you two whispering about?” she asked, far from whispering. “Is it me?”

“ _Whispering_ ,” Clara emphasized.

Jen smacked her.

Ezri nodded at the blonde again.

Jen’s eyes did more than flit over to her. “Okay,” she said to Ezri. “You could do worse.”

At this rate, the girl was going to notice them any second. When Ezri looked at her again, she caught the girl’s eyes, wide and blue. Smiled, and stood, deciding to not conspicuously say anything to Jen or Clara before finding her way over.

“Aaand we lost ‘er,” said Jen. “How long, you wanna bet?”

Clara managed to catch, _“You’re new.”_

_“Relatively.”_

_“Last few days?”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_ Slight bow of the head. Shy smile. The way Ezri took that in.

“Oh, for a lot longer than tonight,” said Clara.

Now, Clara already had her eyes on a girl with a blue undercut and a septum ring, frowning when a man in a kilt returned to her couch in the corner and the two started making out.

“Damn heterosexuals,” she muttered.

“Only at Temptation is that the peak display of heterosexuality,” said Jen.

“Bisexual erasure,” said Ezri. “Not to mention poly. Could be trans.”

“Then there’s hope,” said Clara.

“You know, there's a dungeon play party starting in about… an hour,” said Ezri hopefully. “Tickets at the door.”

“Then give us an hour,” said Jen. “And if Clara can’t find whatever the hell demographic we’re looking for by then, we’ll go to your beloved dungeon. You found a slave here, you can only mind so much.”

Ezri smiled. She did only mind so much.

They did, however, go to the mentioned dungeon an hour later, when even Jen had to admit Temptation was overrun tonight by the vanilla crowd that was more just queer and swinger than kink. Clara had failed to find someone interested in her attention, eager to act on Jen's apparent permission to find someone to beat up, even with not minding any gender they were if she was on that side of the whip.

“Ah, home sweet home,” said Clara as they settled in at their new venue. “With all the kinky weirdos.”

A woman twirled in an inverted suspension nearby; another nearby rope scene was floor work, combined with kicking impact.

Strangely, Lalia now felt more at home here, too; she’d gotten used to a certain milieu.

It felt right, too, when in conversations about leaving, later, they talked about going home. It felt right, sitting at the kitchen island with Ezri for a snack before bed, to say they were home for the night.

“That TrainingMax event is coming up,” said Ezri, stroking Lalia’s thigh.

“Were you going to come with me?” Lalia asked.

“I’ve had mixed ideas. But I think so. You should message them and ask if you’re able to bring someone, since it’s not a public event. Have they sent you an address yet?”

Lalia shook her head.

“Ask for that, too. Just to avoid any last minute hassle.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She made a quick note of it.

“We’ll see,” Ezri said. “What they’re up to.”

“Hmm.” Quiet for a bit too long.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

“No… not really. I just don’t know what I think of—certain things yet. TrainingMax. Versus what we do. How different it is. And all that.” Seeing Ezri’s expression, she added, “I just haven’t seen a lot of it in action yet.”

“Hmm.” Ezri’s turn to be too quiet.

She wanted to apologize, but wasn’t sure if that was making too big a deal of it. She mumbled the apology anyway as the silence got too long.

“It’s fine,” Ezri sighed, and kissed her forehead and said, “I’ll be upstairs. You have some new evening routines to be attending to.”

She did. Still, her stomach turned while she did them—turning down the bed, setting water on the nightstand.

Restless, she did a second final sweep of the house and when she returned, Ezri was in bed reading. “Come up here,” she said softly.

Lalia curled up next to her. “I know a lot of this is new,” Ezri said with the same softness, stroking her hair. “But I want you to be very careful about who you voice certain thoughts to. You know the theory, even in the public scene, that you can frame the same Owner’s actions in a way that either sounds like SSC fun or horrific abuse?”

Lalia nodded, frowning, thinking.

“The same applies here but even more so, since even more of it is illegal or controversial. I know some of the lines are thinner than others, but… tread carefully.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.

“I sent you a list of things I think you should read. Mostly essays, mostly in network. Some are mine. You can find a print version of all of them somewhere in the dungeon library. I’d assign a deadline but I’m sure you’ll binge read all of it tomorrow anyway.” She smiled, and kissed Lalia’s nose.

Lalia fumbled for her phone, not recalling any message from Ezri. “Ah,” she said; it was sent as an email, not sparking notification. Another email showed a response from TrainingMax; she checked it, tilting her phone to show Ezri she wasn’t diverging from their conversation, and said, “They said you can come. Kind of. They don’t sound, ah, enthusiastic. Sent the address, too. The zip code isn’t far.”

Ezri took the phone from her and read it. Shook her head. “Send me a screenshot of that,” she sighed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Lalia did. She answered the message with a generic thanks for the information.

Ezri nudged her until she went back to her blanket. “I’ll look into it in the morning.”

The next day came; Ezri said the address was residential, and appeared to be Garrett’s house—or at least, a record search said it was owned by him. “Amazing how easy it is to find things online,” she said. “You wonder how anyone who’s not out manages to stay that way. If I was trying to keep my name a secret, I couldn’t even host at home. Then again, plenty of people don’t.”

Meanwhile, Lalia read what Ezri had instructed between chores; when she got the mail, it included yet another book Ezri had leant someone that they were returning.

The reading was not all about TrainingMax and its anomie directly. A lot of it was theory within the network.

In what ways they skewed Old Guard or didn’t, what in that arena was on purpose and what was demographic—taking the ideas of more common protocols and expectations, but weighing individual consent in the manner today’s scene leaned towards… in some ways.

How they didn’t want to fall into the trap of being a group that no one ventured outside of; those active in the network were meant to be active in the public scene to an extent—with many references to TNG groups that were supposed to be an educational starting place, a place to come home to, and became the sole group affiliation for many people who simply drifted out of the scene when they aged out of the TNG groups at thirty-five. The network was not made to be the host of every event you attended.

How protection collars had been abused so much in the public scene by people using them to get first dibs on the new and clueless for play—which wasn’t a part of protection at all; it was supposed to be mentoring, keeping an eye out, helping with resources, negotiation—the network didn’t officially recognize them. The logistics were just that they were mostly put on s-types, and s-types in network were mostly owned, and Owners didn’t get protection collars as much; they were recognized hit or miss by individual members, as in the general scene. Still, the network in general viewed them with skepticism.

How training in network required a certain level of consensual non consent or almost no one would see it through—comparisons to boot camp and the military, its ties to BDSM and especially leather through the Old Guard, comprised mostly of World War II veterans, gay male biker culture—and how to weigh a bit of CNC for someone’s own good—maybe don’t let them run off at the first moment of doubt; doubt was normal and easily recovered from by those passionate at their core about this; don’t let them close themselves off to learning in arenas not their primary interest—but letting those who truly found it wasn’t for them, go.

She understood the correlations. Expectations so minute and universal there was no room for individuality—the goal of universally palatable trainees Ezri had described from TrainingMax—versus room for appropriate creative flair. The benefit of a variety of education and socialization, versus TrainingMax’s isolated culture. How easy it was to take advantage of the new and uneducated. The ongoing debate of consent in training.

“So who buys from TrainingMax?” she asked Ezri as they talked about it. “Is it people who are part of the problem? Is it a financial thing—cheaper?”

Ezri shrugged. “A mix of people who don’t know better, or agree with what TrainingMax does, or who know but decide it’s worth the convenience or discount.”

“I mean, if you want training for your slave, is it possible there are people who can only afford it from them?”

“You’d be better off learning to do it yourself. Free and ethical that way.”

“But how do you learn?”

Ezri gestured vaguely. “There are a thousand theories from the basically vanilla to the idea you need to train on the right side of the slash yourself before you can do anything useful on the left.”

“Do you think you could train someone as well as TrainingMax with only free resources? No paid classes or video courses or mentoring, or buying books, or… I dunno, Red Cross first aid certificates? I don’t know what you paid Branwen, but that LUC and MAsT class was twenty dollars for both of us for the presenter travel fund, and that was only a few hours. Plus, no toys or supplies or extra space or transportation—God forbid you wanna travel to a convention—and if you both have to work full time, or have vanilla roommates? All of it.”

Ezri considered. “You think it’s a privilege thing.”

“I do,” said Lalia, with a little too much conviction. “There are single tails upstairs that cost more than what the average person puts in savings in a month, forget the younger demographic.”

“Lalia.” Ezri said her name softly, but the _watch it_ was clear.

She lowered her head a little, bit her lip, didn’t say anything further.

“Training isn’t strictly necessary,” said Ezri. “You can live without it. You can take it slower as resources allow.”

“Yes,” said Lalia quietly. You could, but they were talking about a group of people who wanted it badly, for whom it was a priority, or even a financial decision in itself. She knew she could’ve made better savings decisions before Ezri if she hadn’t prioritized BDSM education—but then again, wasn’t it in part the money spent on books and even a night at Temptation that had gotten her here?

The conversation ended calmly, though Ezri muttered she had a headache she hoped wasn’t going to turn out to be a migraine, and retreated upstairs. And it still took Lalia a while to wind down later, checking and updating reference files on routines and tasks, butler’s book entries on visitors she might have something new on, a test results file for everything from her BDSM test (top scores still slave and submissive, tied for a hundred) to her enneagram (one) and her Myers Briggs (INFJ) to her love languages (receiving time, touch, and words of affirmation, and giving time and acts of service).

Speaking of service—dinner.

Her alarm had gone off to start preparing it and she was standing in the kitchen, having pulled out the first pot, when Ezri texted her, saying, _I won’t be eating dinner. You can make it for yourself or not if you like._

She wasn’t particularly hungry, and there were leftovers available, but she’d have to figure out the meal plan scheduling...

She texted back, _Yes, ma’am,_ and put the pot away, but went to find Ezri curiously. She was in the bedroom, dark, in bed. “Come here,” she said when Lalia poked her head in, gesturing.

Lalia lay beside her and Ezri curled up around her.

“Just stay a few minutes.”

Lalia squeezed her hand where it had settled by her waist. “Migraine?” she asked softly.

Ezri nodded into her shoulder.

“Anything I can do?”

Ezri shook her head.

So she was quiet, vaguely wondering if she might accidentally drift off like this, if she should set an alarm, if that would be bad for Ezri, if—

“I have meds for this,” Ezri said as if remembering it; Lalia jumped, realizing she’d assumed Ezri had fallen asleep. “Medicine cabinet.”

She was halfway to said cabinet when she realized she’d given no verbal response or curtsy, though it hadn’t been a very coherent order or dismissal and Ezri didn’t rebuke her for it when she returned with the migraine medication. There was water nearby already; Ezri was slow to sit up and take the pill Lalia offered, but did.

She didn’t lie back down immediately; they just sat in the dark and Lalia was unsure of what to do, how to offer relief from the pain Ezri was clearly in, stayed close, soothing touches and light kisses, until they lay down again.

She spent the evening there, drifting in and out of sleep, finally getting up to finish what evening routines she could before returning. When she did, Ezri wasn’t in bed, and there was a harsh light coming from the bathroom against the dark room; she flipped it off when she understood what had happened and how turning it on was probably habit, stayed and rubbed Ezri’s back while she threw up one more time; her hair wasn’t long enough to get in her face.

Ezri, panting a little, mumbled an apology and Lalia said, “It’s okay. Why don’t… you lie down again. I’ll take care of this. There’s water in the bedroom.”

Ezri looked like she was going to say something, didn’t, left. Lalia returned to her as swiftly as she could, lay with her again when Ezri said there was nothing else she could go do, and asked softly if Ezri wanted her on the bed for the night or if she should move at some point.

“Stay,” said Ezri, in a tone that indicated this had more to do with her migraine induced clinginess and less to do with any desired behavior.

Lalia nodded and snuggled into her and the blankets, dozed.

When she woke, Ezri was awake, dressed but sitting on the bed, checking her phone. “How are you?” Lalia asked, words slurred with the remnants of sleep, finding her way back to her from where she’d drifted, clumsily laying her head in her lap.

“Much better.” She threaded her fingers through Lalia’s hair. “Thank you.”

“Hmm.” She was rather sleepy herself, considering how early she’d started dozing off. "I’m glad.”

“I know I get… well.” Softer, “Thank you for staying.”

“Of course,” said Lalia, and a moment later, “Clara warned me.”

Ezri laughed. “Good,” she said. “Apparently you two are more on top of that than I was on your asthma. I hope I didn’t hold you hostage in the bed too long, or vomit on you too much, or whatever.”

Lalia laughed. “It’s all fine.” She nuzzled against her. "I love you.”

“I love you, too.”


	17. Modern Marriage

Ezri was tense the morning of the TrainingMax event and little seemed to distract or soothe her. She tied the black ribbon with the network charm around Lalia’s neck hours early and so tightly, she retied it after one glance at the look on Lalia’s face. She gave a rather long preventative discipline session, and circled her several times before they were to leave, with time to tell her to rebraid her hair—one today, over her shoulder, as ordered—and put on a fresh uniform shirt. She herself changed into a black button down from an indigo flannel.

In the car, she said, “I’m aware I’m being unreasonable.”

Lalia made a small sound of acknowledgement, unsure what she could possibly respond with that would be appropriate, squirming at sitting in the car from the morning’s session, and very aware of the ribbon collar if she breathed too deeply.

“You don’t have anything to say to that?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, ma’am,” she settled on finally.

Ezri’s turn to hum in mere acknowledgement.

Finding the address, Ezri rang the doorbell. A tall man with thick brown hair answered. “Hello,” he said. “Come in, come in.”

Lalia stepped in behind Ezri and the man shut the door. “I’m Garrett,” he introduced himself. “We’ll all fill each other in later—but, names?”

“Ezri,” she said, and shook his hand. “This is Lalia.” She gestured. “I think you talked on Fet.”

“That’s right,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” she said, tried to smile, and also shook his outstretched hand.

“Well, go ahead and get comfy—” the doorbell rang again; he gestured at a horseshoe of couches, people mingling, as he opened the door “—there are flyers and snacks.”

Ezri and Lalia stepped out of the way and Ezri led the way towards the people; the only person Lalia recognized was Branwen, also invited, which Ezri had found out about, and talked to her about—Branwen was also here to… investigate. That was expressed for now in only a friendly smile.

Ezri sat next to her and gestured for Lalia to kneel next to her, which she did.

"I see the hand signals were useful,” Branwen said lightly. The two made small talk—Sadie finishing training, a project Branwen was working on.

Garrett, still standing, soon said, “All right, I think we’ve got all the RSVPs, so let’s get started.” He plopped into an armchair. “My name is Garrett, and I’ve been a part of TrainingMax for about a decade now, almost the beginning. God, that makes me sound old. I coordinate local events and entry training programs. Amoret, you wanna go next? Oh—he and him pronouns.”

“Sure,” said the woman to his left, who introduced herself, another TrainingMax coordinator, who was visiting from out of town. No one else was involved with TrainingMax yet, as they went around the circle. The group leaned male and on the left side of the slash. In fact, by the time they reached Ezri, who would be followed by only Lalia and Branwen, Lalia realized she was the only person in the room on the right side of the slash.

Ezri rattled off her introduction easily. Name, pronouns. “Twenty-three years in the scene, eleven years in network locally, eight years on and off doing live in general high level training, a bit of entry.”

It occurred to Lalia again that Ezri had been in the scene longer than she herself had been alive.

“Now I’m focusing on entry training, hopefully with Lalia—” gesture, very aware of everyone’s eyes on her “—who’s under consideration and training to be my slave and majordomo.”

There was a definite bristle of interest at that. Slave had to have been obvious—nothing else said was terribly unique—no, _majordomo_ was definitely the attention grabber, and her paranoia that Ezri was correct on what TrainingMax wanted from her grew.

“Excellent,” said Garrett. “Lalia, was it? —If you don’t mind?” he asked Ezri.

“Certainly.”

Lalia looked up, now resisting the opposite urge to lower her gaze. “My name is Lalia, like Ms. Ezri said. She and her pronouns.” She had thought of what she could say, but Ezri had covered the basics, and she had no other experience to really speak of. She couldn’t just echo Ezri again though. “So far, I’ve gotten to help with one person’s high level training, and serve as a majordomo at one event.”

It sounded pathetic compared to Ezri’s introduction, and to a lot of the other introductions, and to everything she felt like had changed, happened—but it was what it was, and it didn’t seem to have dissuaded the interest.

“Great,” said Garrett. “Next?”

Branwen went. After that, Garrett said a bit more about TrainingMax that wasn’t particularly enlightening, and advertised an upcoming entry training course led by him and Amoret. Then he got a fairly general discussion going about the roles of trainers in the network. Lalia listened and said nothing; Ezri uncharacteristically said little; glances at her expression showed boredom to disapproval.

So she was surprised when at the end, it was her and Ezri and Garrett and Amoret—a houseguest—remaining, though not for long; they left shortly after the last person before them. She felt mostly boredom, tuning out what she disagreed with, while it seemed to silently fuel Ezri.

Garrett said, “Thanks for coming by. Hope we catch you two again.”

“Thank you for having us,” said Ezri, and Lalia was pretty sure Garrett didn’t catch how stiff it sounded.

“Sure. Good luck with the entry training.” His eyes flicked to Lalia. “You’ve clearly done a fine job with her.”

“Thank you.”

She was reminded, easily and immediately, of that first overheard interaction with Travis, and Ezri’s _thank you_ was in largely the same tone.

“Of course, if you’re ever in the market for help, let us know.”

“Certainly.” Ezri managed a tight smile and Lalia followed her out. Overall, the event was rather anticlimactic. She saw what Ezri meant, but…

In the car, Ezri was quiet but less tense, looking more thoughtful than irritable. She dismissed her quickly when they got home.

She seemed a little tense again as they settled down at the table for dinner, saying, “I talked to Garrett.”

Lalia looked up curiously.

“I also reached out to a few local TrainingMax graduates. Looked into the program they’re going to be running soon. Asked Branwen what she thought of today. Looked at the logistics.”

It felt like this was building up to something, but Lalia didn’t know what yet. She nodded.

“I was thinking…” Ezri sighed. “I think you should do it,” she said at once.

Lalia was surprised, confirmed, “Do…?”

“Their entry program, as a trainee. For the same reasons we went today. Besides… Garrett offered a modification that would let you get some experience in as a majordomo in that kind of setting.”

“Why… the change of heart?”

“It’s… not, really. My feelings are the same and I’m still very wary of this idea. But I’ve wanted to know closer to first hand, unbiasedly, what they really do for years. This is… an opportunity. We’d take precautions. Garrett was suspicious, I think—you’re too well trained to need entry. I played up the group experience.”

Lalia nodded.

Ezri looked at her expectantly.

Lalia gave her a questioning look back.

“Will you do it?” Ezri asked softly.

“Oh—of course,” she said. “I thought that was—obvious. Assumed.”

“You’re allowed to say no,” Ezri reminded her. “For now.”

“Right.” It didn’t frequently occur to her to invoke that, nor would her doing so be a great sign for the future. And she didn’t think that anything so terrible would happen at TrainingMax, not with Ezri’s keeping so close an eye on it.

“I’ll arrange it,” said Ezri with a shrug, going back to eating, though Lalia hadn’t quite noticed that she’d stopped.

Later, as Ezri messaged her a few more details on TrainingMax from her conversations, she realized she hadn’t checked FetLife in a while, and checked it. She had three messages. One was from a girl she’d met at the first munch she’d gone to, who had kindly given her a ride to and from the second, asking how she was doing, since it looked like she’d really “jumped in”.

The two other messages came independently from people she realized with profile skims she had met at the LUC and MAsT event. Both were good natured, mostly saying it was nice to meet her and sending a friend request, but both carried warnings.

The first said, _I know it’s not my business,_ but went on to say to watch out for sub frenzy, a link to a page about it, mentioning the potential drop from going too far too fast. The second said, _I’m sure you can make your own choices, and I’m sure it will turn out all right, but these things should be carefully considered…_ Namely, choices such as getting into a CNC dynamic with someone who had more years of kink experience than she had on the planet.

She felt… irritated. Yes, she could make her own choices, and yes, it wasn’t their business. She had thought through the consent factor thoroughly; she knew what sub frenzy was and, in her opinion, showed no real signs of it. Yes, they’d moved quickly on some things, but not without a lot of thought. Experience… what was Ezri going to do with that—create a power imbalance out of it? Tragic. More like use it to tell Lalia herself when she felt she was being under cautious. She sent screenshots to Ezri.

Ezri replied, _I suspected you would get such messages at some point. They’re not wrong, but don’t know you. Just thank them for the concern and say you are conscious of your choices. If you want to engage more, you are welcome to, but play nice._

Lalia sighed. Of course, Ezri would give the most reasonable answer. _Yes, ma’am._

_Good girl. Take your time, but when you are done with that, meet me in the bedroom._

She bit her lip curiously. _Yes, ma’am._

She kept the answers short but polite, and tried to not overthink it and make Ezri wait. She went to the bedroom.

“Good girl.” Ezri kissed her on the lips, short and sweet. “Undress. Completely.”

She did, setting her clothes loosely folded on the bed. Ezri ran her hands over her, sat on the bed, had Lalia kneel in front of her, and picked up what Lalia had seen on the bed and tried to ignore—the vibrator she had used on her that one time in the dungeon. She turned it on and nestled it between Lalia’s legs.

Lalia pressed her lips together and made a small sound of pleasure; the curiosity had made her body rather receptive to the powerful vibrations. It wasn’t quite as overwhelming as it had been last time, though. “You may shift position if you like,” said Ezri; “but you will not come without my permission.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri shifted, herself, pulling clothes out of the way, and then Lalia’s mouth to her. Lalia took the cue eagerly and channeled the pleasant sensations into trying to give Ezri some of the same feelings.

Ezri sighed, pet her hair while enjoying her lips and tongue and the little sounds she made, shifting against the vibrator. It was quickly overwhelming her; she panted and writhed while her mouth was occupied, speeding up, taking all of her.

Ezri yanked her away.

“Please,” she begged, unable to plead with her mouth in other ways, resorting to words which were failing her.

“Why should I let you come?”

“Oh—” the only word her mind could wrap itself around was _please_ “—I’ll—I’ll be good, ma’am.”

“Promises, promises.” Ezri tsked. It hadn’t been a good answer; she knew that. “And you’ll be good anyway, won’t you? What have you already done that’s so deserving?”

“I’ve _been_ good,” she whimpered, which she knew wasn’t enough either; her mind wasn’t working.

“And, what, that makes you deserve to come?”

Too close to that edge. Words failing her. Couldn’t speak fast enough. “And you like making me come when I’ve been good,” she panted. “It pleases you to—to watch.”

“And I should let you come if it pleases me?” Ezri asked, toying with one of her nipples.

“Ah!”

“Look at me.”

Lalia did, eyes wide and pleading. Ezri’s fingers were tight in her hair.

“Only if it pleases me?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” she panted, biting back a cry, trembling with need, far too close. “Please—please, Ms. Ezri, I’ll—I—oh—”

Ezri yanked her to a kneeling up position, off the vibrator, still going noisily on the floor. She whimpered, still panting, trying to come down, clenching.

“Breathe,” Ezri ordered. “Focus on me.”

Lalia squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe and regain sensation somewhere that wasn’t her clit or under Ezri’s touch.

“Tell me,” she said, “why you only address me by name when you desperately need to come.”

There was definitely sensation in her cheeks, at least, heat. “I…”

“You…?”

“It—it’s not conscious,” she got out, and in the upright position she was very aware of the dampness even on her thighs.

“The same instinct as moaning a lover’s name, perhaps?”

“W-well I—I don’t think—”

Ezri pulled her down again, and the vibrator on her again made her try to squirm away from it, afraid permission wasn’t coming, afraid her body would betray her. It made different noises as it vibrated against fluids, more slickness than skin.

“Grind,” Ezri ordered as she tried to squirm away, and Lalia whimpered and obeyed, thrusting against the vibrator helplessly. “Show that toy you appreciate it making your pathetic little cunt feel nice.”

Lalia hung her head as much as she could in Ezri’s grasp and did as told.

"Let me tell you something,” said Ezri as her need skyrocketed again, almost deafening, the words barely getting through; the vibration sounds if not sensations faded, twitches of need joining her purposeful motions. “I’m not your _lover_ and I _will_ give you permissions only as I please.”

“Yes—yes, I’m sorry—please—I’ll—”

“There you go. Beg me again. But I do rather like the sound of you saying my name desperately. It might convince me.”

“Please, Ms. Ezri, fuck, please, I need it, may I come, please—”

“You may.”

The orgasm exploded somewhere within her; she clenched so hard she felt it far away from the center of pleasure of the toy, crying out loudly as relief overcame her. Ezri watched her, the nude girl kneeling at her feet, flushed, head tilted back now, Ezri’s fingers just there in her hair, a few tears escaping, lips parted and sounds of pleasure falling from them.

“Th-thank you—thank you, m-ma’am,” she got out, and Ezri reached and slid the toy out from under her, shut it off, left it there on the floor.

“Over the bed,” said Ezri, standing. “I’m not done with you.”

Lalia fumbled but found her way there, head resting on her arms, exhausted in the aftermath of her orgasm, sleep nearly claiming her even with Ezri inside of her, quickly finding her own release. Gentle aftershocks of pleasure started to ramp up just moments before Ezri came herself, the familiar pattern of harder thrusts and quicker gasps and the slight moan. “Fuck,” she mumbled after, catching her breath, and Lalia whimpered at the sensation of Ezri still inside her, need starting to seep in again.

Ezri slid out of her, stroked her hair, slightly tangled and damp at the roots with sweat. “Good girl. Come over here and clean me up.”

Lalia shakily slid back to kneeling, shifted and sucked the mix of fluids off Ezri’s cock obediently, trying to not let the salty mix linger on her tongue until she gagged. Drew back and lowered her head, rapidly feeling again more sleepy and sated and especially submissive than aroused.

“You may clean yourself up, and this.” She nudged the vibrator with her foot. “And see to any other things.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, trying to muster the energy to do so.

“Good girl.” One more caress, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then starting to put on pajamas.

Lalia found it in herself to stand, get a nightgown over her head, get the vibrator cleaned and put on a charger, and see to the rest of her usual nighttime routines. She was too tired—and too well fucked, maybe—to let the worries of the day interfere with sleep.

The next afternoon, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Ezri was occupied upstairs and hadn’t mentioned expecting anyone, and Lalia’s first instinct was to not open it. She then reflected Ezri might have forgotten about something or would later ask her why she hadn’t opened it—it did seem like the average forty something was a lot more inclined to take unexpected calls or visitors than she was—so she opened it.

She was glad she did; it was Jen, saying, “Oh, good, someone's home. I was wondering how I’d manage to catch the one time someone wasn’t.”

She had a point; the number of times her and Ezri were both out of the house, especially when it wasn’t with Jen and Clara or at least their knowledge, could probably be counted on one hand so far. “Come in,” said Lalia, shutting the door behind her; “I’ll… get Ms. Ezri?”

“Sure, I’m just dropping something off for her.”

Lalia quickly found her way to Ezri’s office; Ezri was half out the doorway looking curious. “Jen’s here,” said Lalia.

“Oh, good,” said Ezri, looking less confused, following her back.

“I come with presents,” said Jen cheerfully, and produced something from her bag, handing it to Ezri. It looked rather like a leather belt, with a pointed end, but with none of the holes, loops, or metal, the opposite end a handle. It was a muted purple. “Well, present, singular.”

“Perfect,” said Ezri, examining it. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Jen’s occasionally mentioned side business making such leather pieces was definitely more passion than business. Clara mentioned now and then handling pretty much every part of it that wasn’t the actual leather working, and Lalia had seen supplies for it when she’d been at their house. Ezri had pointed out a few other items in the dungeon that were of Jen’s making, mostly restraints or impact implements.

“Where’s Clara today?” Ezri asked.

“She had dance class. The little ones. I’m going back to pick her up after this; I had running around to do.” Jen perked up at this as if remembering something. “Hey, can I steal your slave for like, half an hour?”

“You want to show off Clara?”

“C’mon.”

“So, yes.”

“So, yes,” Jen grinned.

Ezri rolled her eyes again. “All yours. I’ll even give you forty-five minutes if you stay for dinner after.”

“Perfect!” Jen was already moving towards the door; Lalia offered a quick curtsy in Ezri’s direction and caught up to her.

“Where does Clara teach?” she asked.

“The community center,” said Jen as they got in the car. Something about the way she backed out of the driveway was strangely terrifying, perhaps the speed with which she did it that lurched Lalia against the back of her seat. She didn't know how to drive a stick shift, but felt like this wasn't it. “Few times a week. She does ‘modern dance’ with adults and kids. Which apparently means ‘whatever the hell you want’. According to her, anyway.”

“Interesting definition for her,” said Lalia.

Jen laughed. “We’ll say we practice ‘modern marriage’. It means she does whatever the hell _I_ want. Also probably something about us both being bi.”

Lalia laughed.

It occurred to her she had never actually been alone with Jen—they didn’t even privately text chat—though her usual social anxiety over such a situation was mixed with the awareness of Jen having seen her undressed multiple times, doing anything from getting beaten by Ezri to having sex with Clara on the floor. Funny, the order in which things happened.

The rest of the car ride was actually about as vanilla as either of them knew how to be. Jen talked about work—she was a programmer who worked from home—and Lalia nodded and smiled. What Lalia understood about this was the realization that she had assumed she wouldn’t encounter many more coherent sentences in the English language comprised mostly of words she didn’t know. This assumption was proving false just as rapidly as Jen spoke. She also understood that Jen, apparently, knew these words and had strong opinions about them. And that someone in the systems department was being stupid, and she hadn’t yet figured out what that department did when they pulled up in front of the community c enter.

They made their way through a maze of hallways and Jen made a _shh_ gesture as she opened the clear door to the dance studio room. Lalia’s immediate thought was, _You want_ me _to shh?_ and blushed from thinking it and thanked any deity she could think of it had not gotten out of her mouth.

Clara was occupied on the other side of the room with a small group of children who looked between maybe four and eight, smoothly demonstrating a short dance sequence again. She noticed them and smiled, said something to the group she was with, and waded through the larger group of four to eight year olds, stopping to talk to only one, again demonstrating something, watching the kid repeat it back to her, smiling encouragingly, wading again, until she reached them. “Hey, sweetie,” said Jen.

“Hey—” said Clara, as if she were going to say something else after and stopped herself. She gave Jen a light kiss on the lips, though, and this attracted no surprised looks from the children or the growing nearby crowd of parents.

Three of the small children swarmed Jen; apparently, she was a regular enough presence to be exciting to some of them. Nearly the same height as Clara in her usual boots, the children on average barely came to her waist; something about _swarm_ seemed the right word.

Clara looked at Lalia. “How’d you end up here?”

“I… don’t know,” she said, which made Clara laugh, though she corrected, “Jen came by to drop something off and…”

“Got it.”

“You’re staying for dinner, apparently.”

“Lovely.” Clara turned her attention to a few of the children, then waded towards the parents and spoke to the group, called to the kids that class was up and it was time to go home and something about a recital soon and lollipops by the door. The kids and parents trickled out; one of the fathers stayed to talk to Clara for an extra minute.

Alone, Clara wandered about tidying and checking a few things and they talked, but kept it unexciting. She found her way back to them and shut the lights. Jen kissed her again and gripped her by the collar this time, which Lalia noted she was wearing—but the synthetic black leather—she knew that was Jen’s work—and small steel lock didn’t look more out of place than any other choker, especially given the lacy bell sleeved shirt she wore.

She sat in the backseat on the trip back, texting Ezri they were on their way; Clara talked about class and Jen told the story from work again, admitting, “I’m probably boring Lalia. She heard it on the way here.” Clara had said about as much as Lalia had for the first rendition, mostly nodding agreeably, and whether or not she understood any of it either was unclear.

“I think I understood one more word this time,” said Lalia lightly, still trying to think of something to temper that with when Clara said:

“Computers go beep boop. Sometimes they don’t and you have to fix it. Everyone in systems is a piece of shit. That’s all I got.”

Lalia laughed.

“Don’t worry, sweetie; you really kept up with those four year olds,” said Jen.

“Well, I try,” said Clara, as if there was anything good to say to that.

They were back—safely, despite Jen’s driving—before long. Jen and Clara had a calming effect on Ezri, at least, and were in a playful mood.

“You’ve done a lot worse to me than TrainingMax ever would,” Clara said to Jen at one point as they were moving towards sitting down to dinner.

“Well, I can do what I want to you. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Clara looked Jen up and down as if meeting her for the first time. “I could take you.”

She yelped as Jen pulled her to the floor by her hair.

“Mm, I don’t like your odds, sweetie.” Jen kissed her nose and released her.

Clara stood, brushing dust off herself that wasn’t there, trying and failing to scowl at her.

It occurred to Lalia, not for the first time, that it sometimes looked like Clara wanted to be a brat and couldn’t quite bring herself to be.

“You paid too much for me to fuck me up in a fight,” Clara tried.

“I paid too much for you, period,” Jen said, looking at Ezri.

“It’s like an adoption fee, Jenevieve,” said Ezri. “I just want to make sure they go to good homes. Besides, you offered whatever I—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Clara grinned.

After dinner, Lalia retreated to the kitchen with Clara for cleaning, and Clara said, “So, going into the spy industry.”

“It’s… yeah,” she laughed. She hadn’t talked about it with Clara alone before, but it had been weighing on her mind. She thought her anxiety about it was more mild than Ezri’s, but she also had the feeling Ezri knew something—several things—she didn’t.

“I offered to go with you,” said Clara, like it was going to the grocery store. She shrugged. “Jen didn’t think it was necessary and wasn’t gonna go without me while I was there over it. I think Ezri was on board.”

It occurred to Lalia, not for the first time, that she’d been adopted into Jen and Clara’s lives almost as much as Ezri’s. It did occur to her for the first time that she’d be away from Ezri during it, in the sense of loneliness more than safety. She might have liked having a friendly face there, at least. “Thanks,” she said; “for trying.”

“Someone’s gotta look out for your wide eyed little soul. Besides, you’d do it for me.”

She hadn’t thought of it like that. But yes, she probably would. Did she really need to be looked out for, though?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m just... nervous. I think mostly because...”

“Ezri’s so fucking wound over it?”

Lalia smiled. “Basically.”

“Would it help if I beat you up?”

She wasn’t sure she’d been in the mood for that—though last night with Ezri was fresh in her mind, a pleasant daydream—but it was a hard offer to say no to.

“If you want,” Clara shrugged. “It’d probably keep us here longer at least, and she’s usually better around people.”

Lalia concurred. “You should ask.”

When they found Jen and Ezri again, they were in the living room. Lalia knelt at Ezri’s side and noted that she did seem calmer for the company. Clara, at the break in the conversation dedicated to their return, slipped onto Jen’s lap on the couch, straddling her.

“What do you want?” Jen asked, singsong, evidently knowing her too well.

“May I ask Ezri if I can beat up her slave?”

Ezri, who was still two feet away, rolled her eyes slightly. She looked at Lalia, who gave a small nod.

Jen looked at Ezri.

“If the girls want to play, let them,” Ezri laughed.

Clara looked at Jen. “Please?” Wrapping her arms around her neck.

“Fine,” said Jen. “I think we still have a play bag in the car.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Clara kissed her cheek, sliding off of her. “You’re the best.”

Jen rolled her eyes.

“You can use whatever’s in the dungeon,” Ezri offered, then amended, “I’ll let Lalia negotiate for herself.”

Jen handed Clara the car keys and she went to check on said play bag. “Upstairs, then?” Jen asked Ezri.

Clara found the three of them in the dungeon, dropping a duffel bag on the floor at her side, then paced along the wall that held most of the impact implements and set a selection with the bag.

“You,” she said to Lalia. “C’mere.”

Lalia looked at Ezri, who nodded, and went to Clara.

“Where do you want me to hit you?”

She could almost still feel that preventive paddling. “Back, maybe?”

Clara held up one of the implements, a dragon tongue. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” said Lalia.

They went through the pile like that. Lalia said yes to everything in the small pile that belonged to Ezri except for one single tail, a signal whip, that Clara pointed out would make her bleed based on the material of the attached cracker. What remained was a dragon tongue, a warmup or cooldown flogger, and the belt like piece Jen had brought earlier.

Clara sorted a few things in the bag and then held up another item. Another single tail, a bull whip. Yes. Flogger embedded with metal, no. Sjambok, yes. Blindfold, yes. She wasn’t even sure what to make of the next object from the pile, a rather sharp looking knife with barely a difference between handle and blade. “Quickest way to one’s heart,” Clara tried.

“No knives,” Ezri decided for her.

“Are you sure?” Clara’s eyes were on Lalia, though, as if she would offer a second opinion.

“She’s not ready for knives, Clara,” said Ezri.

“Fine,” she grumbled, and set it back in the holster, then pile.

Lalia had to agree, but resented the ongoing theme that she didn’t know how to protect herself.

“Which one was it that was off balance?” Clara asked Jen, looking at the rest of the pile.

“Snake whip, I think. The red one.”

Clara picked up the single tail mentioned and threw it a few times at the air, a few different types of cracks, evaluating. One did crack successfully and Lalia suddenly remembered it was breaking the sound barrier in the acoustics of the dungeon. “I think you’re right,” Clara shrugged, and set it aside. “I don’t think you’d want me accidentally wrapping with that,” she said to Lalia. She examined the pile they had and said, “That should be good anyway. Strip.”

Lalia avoided her eyes but did.

“What happened?” Clara murmured, circling her, tracing a few light bruises.

Lalia bit her lip. “Preventative discipline,” she said honestly. “Before the TrainingMax event.”

Clara hummed but didn’t offer comment. Jen looked at Ezri, who sighed.

“Can I play music?” Clara asked no one in particular.

“Go for it,” Jen shrugged.

Clara placed her phone on the nearest surface and played something upbeat and instrumental; it sounded good to Lalia’s ears, at least.

Clara arranged the pile a little more conveniently, next to the St. Andrew’s cross, tails of the flogger tangling in her sleeve.

She hmphed and removed the shirt.

“What happened to _you_?” Lalia asked.

“Oh, this?” Clara asked innocently, about the assortment of cuts and dark bruises that lined her back, chest, and arms. She grinned. “This was just for fun. Why did you think I was wearing long sleeves in this weather?”

“—Oh, please, you cried the entire fucking time,” Jen said from the couch.

“Still fun.” Clara’s eyes were still on Lalia. “Why? Scared, sweetie?”

Lalia shook her head. Clara knew approximately what she could take. … And very well what she couldn’t. Clara fastened her to the cross and placed the blindfold on her. It was strange, how the lack of vision felt like such a vulnerability compared to everything else. Bound like this, she wouldn’t have been able to see anything helpful, anyway.

The flogger came lightly, enough to hurt from the start, but only a little. It built quickly, though, even though the strokes didn’t get any harder yet. She squirmed when they did, building rapidly and then stopping. Clara running her nails up and down her back, a slightly painful caress. She whimpered.

“I wanted to try this,” Clara murmured, petting her now with flicks of what had to be the belt like strap. “Haven’t gotten a chance with ours yet.”

It landed, hard, on her shoulder. She hissed. The other side. Then a bit lighter, but over and over again. It stung but hit with a strange force for an implement more sting than thud. It fell like a whip, but not with the complexity of a single tail, or even a dragon tail or tongue, and hit a bit more of an area, but not much. Sharp little bites of pain exactly where it touched. She liked that about it, though. Intense, but concentrated, and the worst of it only for a moment, but Clara had a way of timing the strikes so just as the pain started to truly fade, the strap came again. It was a blissful pattern. The sound of the implement and the music playing blended pleasantly as her mind got fuzzy.

Clara was close to her again, pressing a light kiss to an especially sore spot on her shoulder. Lalia whimpered, not from pain but something about the feeling, anyway. Clara yanked on her hair and she yelped helplessly. “Shh,” Clara soothed. “I know you like that. Don’t pretend.” She released her before Lalia could respond, blushing.

The next implement was definitely the sjambok, a mix of cane and whip she had not played with before. It knocked the air out of her lungs, a choked cry. “I always liked this one,” Clara commented in response to her struggles. The angle it struck at changed again and again, had her writhing as something in her mind struggled to figure out where to even try to run to. The tears came helplessly, a mix of pain and anticipation. Small, shaky sobs.

“Shh. Take a second. Breathe.” Clara’s voice was soft at her ear, her hands running over her, her lips shifting to her neck. “Deep breath for me, sweetie.”

She tried. It took a few, before she felt like it was reaching her lungs.

“Number?” That was Ezri.

“Eight,” she said.

Clara pressed a light kiss against her skin and withdrew again. She resumed with the strap, a bit lighter. Switched, soon, to the dragon tongue. It was almost pure sting, and Clara used it slowly. Let the full effect of each strike set in before placing another, let it go just over the peak of the wave of pain. Her breath came shakily, but the predictable pattern was lulling.

She hadn’t given much thought to Clara’s exact skills and techniques as a Top, but she liked them. Her careful build up and aim were too good to not be well practiced; she took this side of things seriously, too. Even testing the snake whip for balance indicated enough whip cracking to know what she was looking for.

The sjambok tapped her a few times before it came in earnest, letting her think, _Oh, God,_ for just a moment before it took her breath away again. It did not come for long, though. Just enough she was wondering if she could take any more when it stopped.

She heard the distinct swish that had to be the bullwhip, a much lighter impact that popped against her skin and stung vividly but didn’t knock the air out of her lungs. It came again and again, speeding up a little, and still only a few strikes just missing her as she squirmed; tears sprung to her eyes again and a few fell down her cheeks.

Clara was by her side again, running a hand over the marks, scratching lightly, her other hand tight in Lalia’s hair. “Cooldown?” she suggested, lips at Lalia’s ear. Very close. She could feel Clara’s skin brushing hers.

Lalia nodded.

The flogger came again. It stung, falling over the previous marks, even when it did barely more than drop on her skin, and the pain faded quickly, reduced to a pleasant background hum, the sunburn you forgot about until you lay down on it and wondered, a bit of prickling pain now and then. A few sore spots. The sensation of simply the flogger hitting her, the tails brushing her, without much of the pain.

“Okay?” Clara asked, close to her again. Lalia nodded. Clara undid the restraints. “Ready?” Fingers at the back of the blindfold. Nod. She undid that, too. Lalia blinked in the light, even the slightly dim light of the dungeon. Clara went to shut the music and Lalia, unsure, eventually followed Ezri’s beckon to her side, knelt with her head in Ezri’s lap as Ezri pet her hair. It felt right. Like coming home. Clara curled up against Jen’s side.

Ezri looked at Jen. “I think they wore each other out again.”

“I daresay you’re right.”

Lalia did feel worn out, sleepy, dazed, but happy. Ezri seemed calmer, too, and her fingers were soothing in her hair, and their worries did seem further away. It was hard to worry about TrainingMax or anything else in the calm and quiet, inside her mind and out. Everything felt like it was going to be all right.


	18. TrainingMax

It was morning, Lalia’s first real day at TrainingMax. The prior day had been a lot of orientation, and Ezri had dropped her off in the afternoon.

The location was simply a large house located about an hour and a half from her and Ezri’s, a residential but slightly rural area.

Her fellow trainees were: Tamora, fairly new to the scene and network, a suspiciously skittish girl of twenty-one, sent here by her new Master; Olivia, a cheerful young woman new to the network but not the scene, and single; Lalia rather liked her; Riley, a somewhat brooding single enby in their mid twenties new to the network and scene; Nathan, an intelligent, single young man new to the network but not the scene.

Day one so far had been mostly morning routines—complete with the first inspection of the day, of the trainees and their dorm spaces—then Lalia overseeing two trainees—Riley and Tamora—in making breakfast for the trainers and the trainees, who ate separately. There were guidelines to follow on what to cook and when and where and how to serve it, and how to clean up after.

After breakfast and cleanup, each of the trainees had a morning check in with one of the trainers or the other; Lalia was currently assigned to Amoret, the heavyset brunette woman she had met at Garrett’s event she’d attended with Ezri.

Amoret met with her in her office; Lalia entered when beckoned, following a hand gesture that told her to close the door behind her and kneel somewhere accessible.

Her heart raced a little, but she knew she was the only one who had passed the previous night’s practice inspection _and_ this morning’s real one without critique, not to mention the meal she’d overseen without incident. It had been her and Nathan to pass last night, her and Tamora this morning. After this morning's, correction had been privately doled out to the others.

Amoret circled her again now. Lalia held the position and silence, kept her gaze still on the floor.

Before she had left for TrainingMax, Ezri had taken advantage of the little time they had to get her used to certain things. Their evening check in had turned into a final inspection of Lalia and the house each night, giving swift but effective corrections for errors, twelve counted strokes with the cane. She learned quickly. Ezri reviewed her time logs of the day, too, which she had started keeping as Ezri would want them for future times with trainees, and for her time at TrainingMax.

They had actually come to like the ritual. It gave Ezri the vision of her critical trainer mode and the satisfaction of direct results, and Lalia the measured accountability of knowing exactly what was needed.

It had been a little hard to adjust to, being corrected for minor things previously overlooked as she was learning, things on that border of accident and neglect, of understanding and correction.

But it would’ve been like that once they had entry trainees, anyway—correction for her final oversight, instruction or correction to be passed on to the trainees; the ritual simply began a little earlier than planned. And it prepared her for TrainingMax.

They made certain exceptions when you came from an Owner—accepting slight modifications and additions to the fairly extensive protocol. The kneeling position she held was Ezri’s, and she was dressed in her usual uniform, a gray ribbon she was allowed to take on and off herself for bathing and whatnot; Ezri had told the trainers not to touch it, ever possessive in certain areas.

“Up.”

Lalia stood, minding her gracefulness as she did, settling in her usual waiting position.

Here, if correction had not been given in the last day, maintenance discipline was given during the morning check in. That was something Ezri had chosen not to replicate, like the duplicate morning inspection. The nightly inspection routine seemed to give Lalia all the desired headspace effects whether or not correction was given. Ezri had seen how she’d handled the preventative discipline, their closest comparison, and decided she didn’t need practice with such maintenance for TrainingMax.

Amoret circled her one more time. She took no issue with anything, and so it was just the maintenance she gave—the method matched to the closest comparison, for those with Owners—for Lalia, the preventative discipline, the paddle and Ezri’s rules.

It wasn’t so hard to bear, really.

After, they discussed her schedule and goals for the day briefly, and Amoret released her.

She had a bit of time as Garrett and Amoret finished meeting with the others, and so caught up the detailed log of her time at TrainingMax that Ezri wanted her to keep. With electronics use monitored, it was handwritten, the journal mostly kept out of sight—even then, she didn’t write anything Garrett or Amoret wouldn’t want to hear. Factual and honest, not interjecting opinion.

She spent the morning block outside with Olivia and Garrett, for what Garrett nicknamed Gardening and Landscaping 101. It covered a bit of floral arranging, too, when they were back inside. It wasn’t a usual starting place, but Ezri had looked over options and remarked she didn’t want to totally waste Lalia’s time and energy at TrainingMax. Olivia had more truly entry things to learn than Lalia, but had also been signed up for the gardening module so started there as well while it was happening. Lalia didn’t foresee terribly much use for this—they had their landscaper—but it was somewhat interesting, and routine contractors could always fall ill.

It was a nice enough morning, and soon enough it was time to handle lunch, the two of them and Nathan.

Garrett and Amoret gave no critique on the meals so far—no praise, either, but critique was the one they were sure not to hide. Lalia had many critiques on what the other trainees did behind the scenes—oddly, being alone with them in the kitchen was one of the most stressful parts of the day—but she hadn’t been told to pass any of that on to the trainers, and she didn’t. She didn’t trust them, and tried to side with the trainees here where she could, as Ezri had suggested, even if they were mildly frustrating. It was not, in the end, her problem.

In the afternoon, it was Event Photography with Amoret. Lalia certainly knew that her and Ezri hosted enough that while event photographer by request would likely never be her primary role, it was a skill well worth learning. This module seemed very aimed at the certification goals, though there was more to the certification—a bit of a project, evidence—than this.

Dinner.

A bit of quiet time. She went to Garrett’s office and knocked on the open door. She liked her odds with Garrett better for this permission request, and hadn’t been told to go only to Amoret. He beckoned her in; she shut the door and knelt. He finished something with what he was doing and said, “Yes?”

She wasn’t to speak unless spoken to, so that was her cue to say whatever she had come here for. “May I use the phone to call my Owner, sir? Please?”

As part of electronics use being monitored, she had to ask. She wondered exactly how freely they would say yes. Ezri had told her to keep in touch as she could—phone calls were allowed, nothing in writing. If anyone had a job or school, they’d had to take the time off, unlike Sadie.

And it was a cordless landline Garrett handed her as he said, “Certainly. Should be good for most of this hallway.”

She wondered, for a moment, who had a landline anymore—knew exactly why they did—it would keep her tethered to a public area and away from anything more private than a voice call, even if she did try to break the rules. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

“You may go. Bring it back within fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood, curtsied, and left, dialed Ezri’s number, which she’d had to memorize.

Ezri, thankfully, picked up for the unfamiliar number, maybe because she knew it was her, maybe that age gap and unexpected caller policy differences. “Hello?”

“Hi,” she said, a bit of the weight of the anxieties of the day lifted at hearing Ezri’s voice, though a small wave of homesickness hit her with it. “It’s me.”

“Lalia.” Ezri breathed her name. “How are you?”

“I’m fine—”

“Are you alone?”

“Not… really.” She was allowed to use whatever protocol Ezri dictated on the phone, which was currently none beyond the assumption of their usual.

“Okay. Do you have limited time?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

Ezri sighed. “I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you, too.” It had only been a day out of two long weeks, but…

“I had to cook for myself like some kind of peasant or something. All day.”

Lalia laughed. “The horror.”

“And dishes.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be.”

Lalia could hear the smile. “I will,” she promised. “I’m yours. Where else would I go?”

“Hmm. Well. Tell me everything.”

Lalia, carefully, did. Ezri asked questions that would mostly be yes or no to Garrett’s ears. She hoped the phone wasn’t tapped. So far, the training was rigorous and impersonal, and some of the other trainees were definitely under experienced for it, but… the most questionable things so far were the conditions of this phone call.

“Okay,” Ezri said at last. “I’ll let you go. I love you. I miss you. Be a good girl. And remember you’re mine.”

“I love you, too. All yours. I’ll call when I can.”

“Good girl. Get some sleep tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

Days passed.

One call, she mentioned learning bits of home repair, and sewing, mostly tailoring. She’d done the latter with Tamora and Riley.

“How are you finding the other trainees these days?”

“They’re nice, mostly. They’re… trying. They’re new. I mean, so am I, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

Lalia hesitated, then spoke carefully, her voice low. “Tamora’s sweet. I think when I can have a computer, I’ll friend her on Fet.” She gave the username. “If her Master allows it.”

Ezri said, “I’m looking at the profiles.” Pause. “So, her Master’s a piece of shit.” She backtracked—nothing good Lalia could say to that if the phone was tapped. “What about Tamora?”

Amoret walked down the hall. “Well, sewing time was fun,” she said a bit louder, hoping Ezri would understand the stalling. Amoret’s footsteps didn’t seem to fade out, stopping around the corner. Quieter, “I think Tamora had issues with keeping her hands steady. She asked if I would help her with the needle threading. Like she was nervous. Didn’t want to get in trouble for doing it wrong.” She was talking about a far more general situation than the sewing lessons. Ezri had to know it.

“Are you being watched?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ezri sounded agitated and Lalia knew it wasn’t at her, but she longed to fix it. “I’m sorry,” she offered.

“It’s not your fault,” Ezri sighed. “Any of it. All right?”

“All right. I’ve been trying to be useful where I can.”

“I know. And they say you’ve been very good. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Amoret seemed to have lost interest; footsteps around the corner resumed.

They hung up soon enough anyway.

Lalia replayed the conversation in her mind throughout the next day. The next night, inspiration struck and she tried to slip into a mode she had found within herself some time in her student teaching—where authority made her usual social anxieties pause. She wasn’t completely successful, but she managed to get the attention of the other trainees and hold it as long as she needed it. “Sir Garrett and Lady Amoret are gonna come back for inspection soon. I thought—I could check everything first. To make sure we all pass. Like with meals.”

A few looked reluctant but Tamora and Olivia perked up.

“I could use the help,” said Olivia, who had yet to pass one. Tamora had passed all except the practice, but practically vibrated as she did her final checks and cowered in the trainers’ presence. Nathan and Riley had hit or miss results.

“Why not?” Riley huffed, flopping on their bed.

Tamora nodded eagerly.

“Don’t make it weird,” said Nathan, with a shrug.

Though she resented the comment a little, she desperately tried not to. Pointed out things for everyone except Nathan, anyway, as gently as she could, and checked a second time.

Garrett and Amoret swept through the room and exchanged a strange glance. Garrett went to check on the bathroom stations and returned with a head shake. Each circled their assigned trainees. Lalia couldn't check the others’ positions for them now, but they managed. Amoret circled her, and only her, a second time. Her heart pounded. She felt like she had broken the rules, somehow—and it was clear they would all pass, which was probably suspicious. They hadn't said the trainees couldn’t help each other. It seemed well enough within her place.

“Did you do a pre-inspection check?” Amoret asked. In Lalia’s peripheral vision, she eyed the gray ribbon around her neck. It was clearly directed at her, though a little vaguely.

“Yes, ma’am.”

No point lying. Who knew if they already knew that somehow, anyway?

Garrett and Amoret exchanged another look.

“Nice work, all,” Garrett shrugged, and he and Amoret left without further comment.

They all released a breath. Perhaps they all could have gotten in trouble for that choice.

Tamora and Olivia thanked her at least, and Riley and Nathan had come around by the next morning when they all passed again.

That night, when she asked if she could call Ezri, accustomed to the usual rules of it, she was told no. She didn’t ask why. She knew why. And it wasn’t the proper response to ask, anyway. Garrett and Amoret wouldn’t admit she had broken the rules—it was a rule not previously addressed that sounded rather bad for them—but she had. They were allowed to grant or deny privileges like this at will, and this was the first denial she had gotten.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and stood, curtsied, and left when he dismissed her. Worried at the implication they wanted to get back at her unofficially—wondering if Garrett would say yes tomorrow—wondering what Ezri would think of her lack of communication—and a bit homesick and strangely disappointed merely for that.

She kept her logs anyway, kept her head down the next day, noted that Amoret’s morning maintenance sessions seemed to be getting longer, and Garrett granted the call that evening. Amoret was suddenly very concerned with that hallway.

“You didn’t call last night,” said Ezri.

Careful. “I wanted to.”

“They told you no?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ezri didn’t like that. She could hear it. “I heard you started doing pre-inspection checks for the others.”

So Ezri also understood why, if they hadn’t even noted the denial to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I think it's a kind idea,” said Ezri carefully.

“Thank you, ma’am.” She felt a bit better, confirming Ezri was behind her on it.

“Being watched?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She hadn’t been trying hard to convey it, but apparently the repetitive— _yes, ma’am; thank you, ma’am_ —seemed too careful for the conversation.

Amoret lost interest and wandered off.

Still, Lalia’s words were quiet and careful. “Riley mentioned they were reading…” one more glance around the hall, a listen for Amoret’s footsteps; she gave the name of the book, a well known BDSM nonfiction piece. “But they can’t read it here. Of course.”

“Hmm.” Ezri didn’t like that, either.

Truly, the days mostly passed without incident. At one evening's inspection, all was fine until Garrett found an untucked corner of Tamora’s bed. Lalia cursed herself mentally, though she knew she had checked for that. Tamora had sat on the bed and stood and sat a few more times since Lalia’s check, always antsy and restless; it must have happened then; Tamora had smoothed the rumples on top out again and not checked anywhere else.

Now, Tamora panicked.

“I’m so sorry, sir; I’ll fix it; it won’t happen again, sir.”

Garrett was noting this on a clipboard in Lalia’s peripheral vision.

“Please, sir—I’ll—I’ll do better—don’t—don’t put it in my report, please, sir.”

That caught Lalia’s attention. Tamora’s plea was not to get out of punishment but to not have it noted on the report to her Master. The one Ezri had called a piece of shit.

Lalia collected her nerve and shifted, folded her hands in front of her, wrists crossed and fists closed, a nonverbal cue in such situations for permission to speak.

Amoret noticed as Garrett was telling Tamora it would be put in the report. “What?” she asked Lalia when he was done, rather shortly.

Lalia’s heart was pounding so hard it was suffocating. She moved her hands again. “Sir,” she said softly, too softly, addressing Garrett; “if you don’t mind… it was my oversight. You know I started checking things before inspections; I assured Tamora her part of the room was ready and I agree that my oversight doesn’t belong on her report. Sir.”

It wasn’t quite true; she knew the error wasn’t hers, but the general sentiment was genuine. Her chest felt far too tight. Garrett and Amoret hopefully didn’t know about the timing; the others, plus desperate Tamora, wouldn’t call her on it. The question was if they found the argument a good one.

“You’d rather it go on _your_ report?” Garrett asked, a little incredulous.

“Yes, sir. Please.”

Ezri’s reactions were far safer than what she’d heard of Tamora’s Master’s. Besides, she doubted that, with proper chance to explain, Ezri’s reaction would be negative at all. Her actual infraction was a lie, but one to Garrett and Amoret, one meant to protect someone Ezri had praised her for looking out for.

Garrett and Amoret exchanged a look; they were quite good at that.

“Let her have the blame, if she wants it so badly,” said Amoret.

There was another fact on Tamora’s side here, too—they were already looking for an excuse to get back at Lalia for the pre-inspection checks. This was the perfect opportunity to throw it back in her face. She knew it. Still, she silently prayed to any deity that came to mind.

“Okay,” said Garrett, and threw up his hands. “We could note it on both?”

“Eh, let their little dynamics be,” said Amoret. She, at least, seemed eager to place blame on Lalia alone. The better way to subtly punish the pre-inspection checks.

Garrett either was smart enough to understand her real motive or too stupid to realize Amoret’s. But, “All yours,” he said.

Lalia followed the two out. Garrett walked off. Amoret left her kneeling in her office, returned with a cane—again mostly matched to Ezri’s method—but left it leaning against the wall.

“Why so eager for correction, hmm?” she asked. “You were doing fine on your own. But felt the need to be blamed for a mistake—but someone else's. Masochist, maybe? Not taught that real discipline isn’t fun since you haven’t needed it? Saw an opportunity to get it without it having to really be yours? Tired of not getting beaten when you’ve been good?”

Amoret did not believe her story.

That was her first thought.

She held her tongue as indignation flared. She wasn’t stupid; she knew that punishments weren’t the sort of pain she enjoyed. She knew, too, that even if she was that much of a masochist, the emotional ramifications would have ruined it. And there were other methods besides the corporal. She knew that play—the sort of pain she liked—was a privilege dependent on good behavior, and one she would have been expected to ask for plainly if her and Ezri hadn’t prioritized other ideas. But while done now only at Ezri’s offer, it was a desire that had been communicated in respectful words and not bad behavior to begin with.

Besides, Ezri had disciplined her before, and she hadn’t liked it. And she did get plenty of play when she was good.

This was the stupidest interpretation of her actions and she had taken Amoret for a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

“I didn’t want to be punished, ma’am. I have been before and I didn’t like it. But I thought it would be unfair to not accept that responsibility; Ms. Ezri taught me that being a majordomo comes with that. If it would please you, I’d accept another method as well. Ma’am.”

Now to pray again. Her heart was still racing. She wasn’t really afraid of Amoret’s chosen punishment, doubted she would see any consequences from Ezri at all. She hoped they wouldn’t bring Tamora back into it, but Amoret seemed safely set on Lalia. She was afraid… of what? That they would do more than warranted? She didn’t trust them; she didn’t have another image exactly of what they could do, but… she had several more days left in their hands.

Amoret crouched in front of her and tilted her chin up; Lalia flinched at the closeness and was probably supposed to. “You’ll accept any other method, hmm?”

It was too late to back down now. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.

Amoret stood, retrieved something from the desk.

“Let’s look at this file, shall we?” The manilla folder labeled with her name. _Chalmers, Eulalia._ “By the way, this—” she held up the folder “—speaks of your talents liberally. It sounds like you could be clever enough to catch an untucked blanket, at least.”

Amoret didn’t understand her motive but knew she was lying. If she didn’t understand the motive, she was missing the obvious punishment for it—to note the error in Tamora’s file, lies and all.

“Soft limits to tread lightly with,” Amoret read out. “Number one—breath play.”

Lalia opened her mouth—

“I did not prompt you,” said Amoret. “You will learn to keep your mouth shut and not to lie about the others’ mistakes. Garrett can do what he wants with Tamora’s file, but you are going to learn. Lying is more serious than anything you can do with a blanket, anyway.” She shut the file. "And you'll learn that punishment is not something you like. You may or may not like that cane, but there are better methods. It sounds like breath based discipline would be one of them for you.”

“Please, ma’am, you should know—”

“I did _not_ prompt you.” Amoret found something in the desk, an extra length of ribbon, and tied it securely into a gag. Strangely effective, combined with the petrifying anxiety that had kept her from protesting as it was tied, anyway. Another length around her wrists behind her. She didn’t struggle. What would it do?

“Come with me.”

Lalia stood on shaky legs and followed her, pondered ideas. Maybe Amoret was bluffing. Maybe she knew about Lalia’s respiratory issues already from that file and wouldn’t push much.

Running was useless—she couldn’t get out a door like this, not without Amoret catching up to her. No nonverbal signal for permission to speak, now, if she wanted to try the polite route. The gag wasn’t giving with prods of her tongue. Tugging at her wrist restraints hurt. She could pray.

Amoret, to her confusion, led her to a bathroom. Tugged her into a kneeling up position. Tied her ankles. Kicking out was useless and she didn’t try hard for long. Amoret turned on the water and plugged the drain.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

Understatement of the year.

Bluffing?

There was no way this could go well if Amoret followed through.

Ezri’s fingers pressing at her throat for seconds had left her extremities a little numb; Amoret could easily do far worse, even on accident.

Panic flooded her as Amoret shut the water, tub filled. She tried to say something around the gag one more time, incoherent and it didn’t work, anyway. She squirmed and panicked tears trailed her cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Amoret said to her. “But you’ve obviously been taught you’re above discipline until now. Realizations like that make some people emotional.”

With that, she shoved Lalia’s head under the water.


	19. We Care, Too

Pain.

Blossoming just moments after the freezing water hit her, starting deep in her lungs and spreading like an explosion as desperation kicked in; air, air—she needed air—there wasn’t any—just water, everywhere— _oh, God_ —

Amoret yanked her back out of the water. Lalia gasped and spluttered, deep breaths still not quite coming to her and the wet gag not helping. Air, air—not enough. Too much water. She whimpered and wheezed; she was in over her head; she needed help; she needed Ezri—

Under the water again. Again, again. Never quite catching her breath. If Amoret lectured, she didn’t hear it, pain and blinding need for oxygen overcoming her.

At some point she woke on the floor. Her memory of blacking out was fuzzy and she hadn’t had far to fall. She had evidently not been out long.

“Fuck,” Amoret was muttering, and untied the gag. Lalia coughed but finally, air started to come—slowly. Her lungs didn’t know what to do with it; each breath hurt too much to continue far before it got where it was needed. Wheezing, more coughing, more whimpers. Even ungagged, words didn’t come, let alone the oxygen for them. At least, it seemed like it might be over.

She was still curled up on the floor. She realized that when she began to process that Garrett was there, now.

“She’s breathing,” she heard him say. “Badly, but she’s breathing.”

“I dunno—she just, passed out on me.”

Garrett crouched nearby her. “Hey. Eyes up. Look at me. Can you talk?”

His face swam in her vision; she didn’t want to think too hard about him or Amoret right now, and the edges of her vision were still black and pulsing. Words still weren’t coming.

“Fuck,” he said, and sounded very far away. “She doesn’t look great. Nothing in the file?”

“Breath play as a soft limit. That was it.”

Lalia mumbled something; even she wasn’t sure what for a minute until she repeated it as a reflex when Garrett said, “What?”

“Asthma." Panting. She felt very tired, eyes fluttering shut. “I have asthma.” It was all she could think to say. The words she had not gotten out fast enough, letting Amoret gag her. She hadn’t seen her file… Ezri had written most of the basics she’d passed on a while back… _“I like ‘forgetting your medical history aside’”…_

“The file sure didn’t fucking _say_ she had asthma,” said Amoret.

“God,” said Garrett. “This is a wreck. Okay.”

The very beginnings of sensation in her hands and feet hurt on and off; the ties were still a bit restrictive on blood flow but it was lack of air that was making them go numb. Her head was pounding. Air wasn’t coming, shallow breaths, but slightly slower ones.

“Hey,” said Garrett, giving her a light shake. "Come on, stay awake. That’s probably a good start.” He pulled her into something like sitting up, having to steady her, started undoing the restraints. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

She didn't need the restraints to stop her at this point. She was trying to form a thought about her inhaler and it wasn’t coming. She couldn’t even form a protest when Garrett removed the soaked gray ribbon from around her neck for her.

“This isn’t good,” said Amoret.

“Why wouldn’t that be in her fucking file?" Garrett asked, running his hands over his face. “We should—fuck, we should call someone. I don’t like the look of this.”

“This looks bad, Garrett.” She gestured at Lalia’s general appearance, dripping wet and restraint marks dented into her skin.

“Fuck, I know that. Looks a lot worse if she stops breathing on us.”

“Just give her a minute.”

They exchanged a glance and did give it a minute. Garrett kept nudging Lalia, who seemed very keen on napping. “I don’t like this,” he said. He squeezed her hand and didn’t get a response beyond a twitch of her fingers. “I’m calling 911. Get the others out of the way. Lock up anything weird. Start with these.” He gestured to the pieces of ribbon on the floor; he pulled the plug out of the tub’s drain. “She’s a friend staying here who just got out of the shower and we heard her fall when she blacked out. Call her Owner, would you.”

Amoret left.

Lalia drifted.

Meanwhile, Ezri had finally gotten tired of being in the house alone; she had rapidly become used to Lalia’s near constant presence somewhere. While she’d tried to keep messages casual and largely not about TrainingMax, she had finally snapped and called Jen earlier. “I’m a useless extrovert,” she said.

Jen said that Clara’s class had a recital that night that might run late—but they could be there after.

Ezri held Jen on the phone while the two were in the car, after Jen called to say they were on their way, finally venting her worries and frustrations with TrainingMax.

“Cheer _up_ ,” said Jen when the two got there, shaking her shoulder. “You can’t sit around and mope till she gets back. What are you so wound about?”

“I don’t know these people,” Ezri said. "And I definitely don’t trust them. I think it’s naive to assume absolutely nothing can go wrong.”

“Then why did you send her if you’re so worried?” Jen asked.

“I just hope it'll be worth it.”

“Then relax.”

“That’s not—”

“Pick one, then. Stick to your damn choices. What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Great. … I need more water.” Jen walked out of the living room, towards the kitchen. If she’d actually needed more water, she would have sent Clara. She obviously had little patience with Ezri’s back and forth with herself; that had begun on the phone and wasn’t a new pattern.

Ezri sighed and sat on the couch, face in her hands.

“She’s being stupid,” Clara agreed with the silent accusation. “You can worry. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Watch yourself,” Ezri mumbled into her hands.

“Sorry. What I meant was—” she knelt in front of her with theatrical exaggeration, flinging herself into the right place “—my wonderful, gorgeous Mistress who generously lets me exist in her presence and I adore and respect very much is kind of, sort of, being a fucking dumbass.”

That, at least, got Ezri to laugh. She swatted at her arm. “Get up.”

Clara grinned and did. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t like them either. But I’ve met your slave; she’s not doe eyed delicate flower who’ll break if you look at 'er wrong all the way down. Maybe a bit too submissive for her own good—but aren’t we all.”

“I know,” Ezri agreed, on a careful exhale. She gestured vaguely in the direction Jen had left. “Don’t get yourself in trouble defending me.”

“I won’t. I’m just telling you my _personal_ opinion.”

“As opposed to your professional opinion?”

“Exactly. My professional slave opinion is that Mistress is always right.”

Ezri laughed again. “Whatever gets you two through the day.”

Clara hadn’t settled anywhere yet when Jen came back, at least with a glass of water, though it was full and she set it down and didn’t touch it. She sighed and paced.

“I’m done talking about it,” Ezri tried. “I’m sure it’s fine.” Pause. “I just worry—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Jen, and in frustration grabbed Clara and pulled her to the floor by the collar; Clara choked but didn’t protest, stayed on the floor at Jen’s feet, perhaps wisely, though Jen began to pace again.

“Okay,” said Ezri, starting to match her tone. “We’re done talking about it. I will not continue to vent my entirely reasonable concerns.”

Jen kicked Clara in the thigh the next time she passed her and Clara bit her lip but said nothing; it seemed to conceal a small smile, if anything. Ezri rolled her eyes at both of them. Leave it to Clara to be the one having fun in this situation.

“Look,” said Jen, “if you can’t deal with worrying, you shouldn’t have sent her. That’s all I got. Like, you don’t trust them—great. Go rescue her or whatever. Otherwise, chill. All talk no action. You like to say she’s an adult—let her handle herself.”

“I know she’s an adult,” said Ezri. “But she’s in a vulnerable situation. And she has… certain instincts.” She eyed Clara, who got another frustrated kick from Jen.

“I get you don’t like TrainingMax. I’m not a big fan myself—I don’t care like you do, but I’m not a fan. But you gotta stand behind your choices. It’s not good for you and it’s not good for her if you don’t.” She passed and kicked Clara again.

“Yes, Jenevieve, I get your point; you can stop kicking Clara now,” Ezri sighed.

Clara pouted at the suggestion of stopping. Jen noticed and smacked her upside the head, muttered something about, “Useless fucking masochists,” but at least there was humor in her tone.

“I love you, too, Mistress.”

“Don’t make me hit you in a way you won’t like.”

Ezri’s phone rang. All notifications were on full volume while Lalia was gone. She picked it up. Went slightly pale. “Oh, _fuck._ Send me the address. I’ll be—an hour and a half. Tell her I’ll be there. What happened?” Pause, talking on the other end. “Fuck—what the _fuck_ were you thinking? Don’t—don’t fucking touch her again. I’m on my way.” She hung up; she was already looking for her keys.

Even Jen seemed nervous now. “What—”

“The idiots tried drowning someone with asthma in a bathtub. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

“Oh, fuck—”

Ezri wasn’t sure which of them had said it; perhaps both, or maybe it was just playing in her mind on repeat.

She couldn’t find the keys; she wasn’t even sure her eyes were still looking for them or if she was just running around in a panic. “Fuck, I knew it wouldn’t be fine. Fuck. I can’t believe—fuck.”

“Hey.” Jen touched her arm, dangled the car keys in front of her. “I’ll drive. C’mon.”

“You’re coming with me?”

“Don’t be fucking dense,” said Clara, picking up Ezri’s phone for her.

Ezri found her wallet but nothing else useful. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I’m going to fucking kill them.”

“I know. We’ll help.” Clara squeezed her hand.

“We’re with you,” said Jen. “Let’s go.”

They got in the car. As promised, Jen drove; Ezri got a second call as she settled in the passenger seat.

“What the _fuck_ happened?” she hissed in greeting.

Garrett’s words were indistinct but Ezri, through gritted teeth, repeated an address back to him. Clara pulled it up on the GPS from the backseat; the hospital.

Jen was already navigating for the freeway.

Ezri was shouting at Garrett. “I don’t know what the actual fuck made you think that was okay. It was a soft limit. You barely know her. Why the fuck—”

Talking.

“I don’t care what she fucking did. She lied. Okay. Fucking tragic. I told you how to handle that. You could’ve fucking killed her, you idiot. Did you even get her inhaler? Did you not read the fucking file?”

Garrett talking again. Ezri looking pale. “Oh,” she said very quietly.

Jen and Clara exchanged a confused look in the rear view mirror.

“That’s still not—you had her gagged and tied when she tried to tell you—Jesus fucking Christ, it’s like last minute information could be important or something, you think? God. _Fuck._ Oh, I want more than a fucking refund. Yes, I understand your cover. I get it. Where is she? Just leave her fucking alone if she’s with the doctors—just don’t fucking go near her. I’ll deal with it. You’ve done fucking enough. No, I’m not going to calm down. Yes, I understand she’ll be fine. ‘Just an asthma attack,’ yes, what a fucking strange coincidence she had one while you were holding her head underwater! Amoret, then. She has another fucking thing coming. Oh, yes, I’ll be happy to negotiate in the fucking ER what else you can do. Fine. _Fuck_.”

She hung up, closed her eyes and leant her head on the headrest, near tears. She accepted the hand Clara offered from the backseat, offering a death grip back while Clara ran her thumb over the back of her hand. Explained what she could to silence. “I fucking knew it,” she said, and couldn’t help adding, “I told you so.”

The phone didn’t ring again. Jen and Ezri didn’t quite look at each other. All three were quiet the rest of the way, just a playlist and the GPS instructions and passing lights from cars.

At the hospital, Lalia was trying, mostly unsuccessfully, given a litany of beeping machines she could hear from her room off the ER hallway, bright and white, to sleep. There wasn’t much else to do. She now just felt tired. Diagnosis was nothing but a bad asthma attack—no fluid in her lungs or anything. She hadn’t had one like that since windy days of high school PE before she knew when to stop pushing her breathing.

She remembered the routine of ending up in the ER for almost nothing. They gave her oxygen in the ambulance, though it wasn’t critical—just got her up to speed faster. In the ER, the IV with fluids and electrolytes you got for showing up.

Garrett and Amoret had vanished at some point shortly after getting to the ER. One of them—her mind was a little fuzzy on which one—had said Ezri was on her way.

She was sure that there wouldn’t be any peaceful napping if Ezri got a hold of Garrett and Amoret.

Still, she listened hopefully every time footsteps approached. All else aside, she missed Ezri. She thought of asking for a phone to call her—but she didn’t know what to say. Her mind was still working slowly. Ezri would be here soon enough, decide what to do. Mostly she knew when Ezri got there she’d feel better, safer, less lost. Less bored, at least.

She wasn’t sure what to feel. Anger? Fear? Of what, now—surely Ezri wouldn’t send her back? Stupid for not speaking up faster? Fighting harder? Would it have done anything?

She could be angry, she supposed. It wasn’t an emotion she’d ever done well with. It turned into guilt or anxiety or melancholy—pure anger wasn’t something she was sure she’d ever really _felt._ Frustration or indignation—but not the way most people described anger.

Right now, she mostly felt tired. Ill at ease. Her mind a bit muddled from the chaos. Getting bored of lying there.

Funny, how boring the ER was.

Footsteps. More than one person. Getting close. She sat up.

Ezri came in. She processed that alone first, Ezri swiftly sitting on the bed at her side, clutching her, frantic kisses, and for the first time since she had seen her last, something felt right. Like home. The trusted safety of Ezri’s arms.

“Hi,” she whispered as Ezri drew back slightly, holding Lalia’s face in her hands.

“Hi,” Ezri breathed. Kissed her again, long and slow and deep. “How are you, sweetheart? Are you okay?” Her lips still nearly touching hers.

“I’m okay.”

“Okay. … Okay.” Ezri exhaled slowly, clutched her close, buried her face in Lalia’s neck. “My poor girl,” she mumbled. “I’ve got you.”

Lalia’s fingers skimmed her back, resting her forehead on Ezri’s shoulder. They’d both had a long night.

“I shouldn’t have sent you. And I should have double checked your file. God, I felt—I feel—stupid.”

“It’s not your fault.” Nuzzling against her, pressing kisses where she could reach.

Ezri drew back, traced an invisible line between freckles across Lalia’s nose and cheek. Kissed her one more time. "So, you’re okay. Discharge is just waiting on…”

“Somewhere to go and a way to get there.”

“Okay.” Ezri looked back at Jen and Clara, who were lingering by the door, also looking tired.

Lalia processed their presence properly for the first time. “Ah, hi,” she said. “Why…?”

“We were…”

“… Around,” Clara finished Jen’s sentence. She came over and ruffled Lalia’s hair. “We care, too.”

“Thanks,” she tried.

Whatever Clara’s response was got lost in the moment of chaos that came next—Garrett appeared in the doorway—Ezri stood abruptly, already shouting—Clara whirled on him, giving Lalia a slight shove behind her as if she had moved from the bed—Jen had hit Garrett across the face before he was entirely in the room, who cried out in surprise.

“Wimp,” said Clara, who was kept back from him only by Jen’s instinctive tug on her collar, though she immediately thought better of it and at the release of her grip, Clara also hit Garrett, who flailed this time.

Jen shoved Clara behind her protectively. “Come near any of them and you’re dead,” she spat at him, at the same time as Ezri demanded:

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Ah. Okay,” he said. “I see that was not… have we... met?” he asked in Jen and Clara’s general direction.

“No,” said Jen, and didn’t elaborate.

“Right. Well.” He rubbed at his face. “I did say we’d speak in person. Ah…” He glanced behind him, started to say something, but Amoret came into view before he could give her whatever warning he was forming—it was her that Ezri grabbed and, surprise and numbers on her side, shoved into the wall.

At that moment, a nurse poked her head in, said, “All well in... here…?”

“Give us a minute,” Ezri said through gritted teeth.

“Right… right,” the nurse said, and wisely left.

“What—” Amoret began, but Ezri cut her off:

“Fuck you. How dare you—you have a lot of fucking nerve being here—you could have—” trying to collect herself, the urge of tears returning “—God. Fuck.” It wasn’t working. She was losing her nerve. She hit Amoret before she lost it all together, sinking onto the hospital bed at Lalia’s side again, face in her hands, the anger and guilt and terror of the day overcoming her. Lalia wrapped her arms around her from behind, the only way she could reach with the IV, resting her head near Ezri’s shaking shoulders, unsure and overwhelmed.

“Okay,” said Garrett, throwing his hands up. “I see… emotions are running high. We’re just gonna… head out. Ah, we can talk more by phone, if that’s… safer.” Offered a nod and pulled a still shocked looking Amoret out behind him.

Clara found a spot on the bed and took Ezri’s hand again as she started to quiet, mumbling apologies.

The nurse poked her head back in. “Are we, uh… about ready for discharge papers?”

“Yeah,” said Jen; “that’d be great.”

The nurse gave her, then all of them, a strange look, but scurried out, came back, had Lalia sign a few things—Ezri and Clara got out of the way. Someone else came in to remove the IV.

“You’re all set.”

The four alone again, Ezri muttered, “Fuck, it’s late,” rubbing at her temples, next to Lalia again, holding her hand.

“I dunno about that drive back,” Jen sighed.

“There’s a hotel down the street,” said Clara, yawning. “From what I looked up.”

Lalia nodded. Sleep, bed, any bed other than this glorified stretcher, a blanket on the floor, a throw and pillow at the foot of Ezri’s bed, anything, sounded better than a long drive.

“Okay,” said Ezri. “Let’s drive in the morning.” She stood, and picked up Lalia’s bag from TrainingMax, and they found their way back to the car.

Clara drove this time; Jen did something on her phone in the passenger seat; Ezri sat in the backseat with Lalia and asked her a few more questions; she confirmed her motivation for the lie to Garrett and Amoret, which Ezri had already figured out. Ezri got them all one room with two beds, extra toiletries—no one but Lalia had packed—talking to the night shift front desk manager, the liminal space of an empty hotel lobby at night. They plodded up to the room.

Exhaustion had set in; TrainingMax had long days and she’d been a bit short on sleep as it was; then, all the excitement, and it was late. Ezri tucked her into one of the beds with a kiss on the forehead and told her to sleep. She’d join her soon. She was asleep, breathing blissfully slow and steady, before Ezri paced to the room’s desk. Clara claimed the shower, just the sound of running water.

“Hey,” Jen said, soft enough to not wake Lalia, a hand on Ezri’s arm. “Come have a drink with me. There’s a place next door.” She watched her eyes flick to Lalia. “She’s out. And Clara’s here.”

“Okay,” said Ezri, because this was more a peace offering than a drink, and she could probably use one, anyway.

They left a note and went down to the bar next door that connected to their hotel lobby, were settled with drinks in minutes since this close to closing, it was almost empty. Jen’s hand settled over Ezri’s, resting on their table, drumming her fingers a little. “So, TrainingMax is a fucking piece of work.”

"Yeah. That… happened,” Ezri laughed. “God. Long day. Not over yet.”

“What else are you plotting?” Long sip of whatever was in the drink with the cutesy name she’d ordered.

Ezri shook her head. “I… don’t know. I have a vague idea, if they offered a deal to… leave them alone? I don’t know what leverage I have here. The only legally enforceable matter is settled the moment they give that refund. Which I’m sure they will. It’s not worth it.” She glanced around; the place was empty and their voices were low, their words vague, but… “And I’m not going to convince anyone new with just the story. But if I had leverage…”

“You have a bit more than the story,” said Jen, and slid a phone across the table to her.

Ezri blinked at it, realizing it wasn’t hers. “You stole his phone.” Given the notifications it was lighting up with, he knew it, too. “Fuck.” She took a long sip of her drink, too.

“You get good at sleight of hand when you’re into knife and terror play and not killing people.”

“No passcode?”

Jen rolled her eyes. “It’s his birthday. People are fucking stupid with that. That was easy enough to find online. He has a password manager that’s logged in. Shouldn’t have issues getting into anything else. Banking—if you wanna give yourself that refund. But if you wanna be a bit less questionable…” She opened an app Ezri didn’t recognize. “These paranoid fuckers have surveillance everywhere." She scrolled, selected a file. “Motion activated hall camera, aimed at the wide open bathroom door.” Amoret, dragging Lalia behind her, came into frame. Jen hit pause. “I sent anything useful from this to you. Only goes back about a week—auto deletion for cloud space. But that’s plenty. You say you’ll take them to court for assault with that evidence. They don’t have anything that you don’t have on them to counter with. Except a few minor things—getting that footage from the phone I so kindly picked up to return when he left it behind, maybe ‘assault’ in the ER, but no one’s gonna bother with those if you have drowning an asthmatic in a bathtub as your counter.”

“I don’t like the idea of court. If they did find any—”

“You don’t take them to court. You threaten it. You ask for what you want, you get it because they don’t want to test you. They think we’re all fucking nuts; they won’t think we won’t follow through. And if it did come to that… you could. Besides, they won’t want the hassle, for what it is you want.” She raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to challenge her assumption of what she wanted.

Ezri didn’t take the bait, just tilted her head back and forth, considering.

“Think about it,” Jen shrugged.

“Thank you.” She squeezed her hand. “For everything.”

“Sure.”

They drank.

“Sorry I was…” Jen trailed off.

“No, I know at the time it looked—I was moping. I knew I would; that’s why I barely called at first.”

“Well, you have her back now. Safe and sound.”

“I know.” Ezri smiled, finished her drink.

“You really are crazy about her. You sure you wanna hold out till the end of that consideration period for the collar?”

“It’s only another three weeks or so. Besides, if I get what I want from TrainingMax—we might not want that happening in the middle of it, anyway.”

“There’s that.”

“And not all of us do wedding and collaring ceremony a week after first meeting, Jenevieve.”

“You’re holding out four months and still denying you’re basically married; don’t flatter yourself.”

“Hmm. She could still say no.”

“Oh, fuck, don’t start with that. The noble idiot could’ve died today trying to do what you wanted. She’s not gonna run off.”

“Okay,” Ezri relented.

They headed back to the hotel room soon, opening the door as quietly as they could; Clara, too, was fast asleep now—curled around Lalia protectively, an arm over her waist on top of the blankets.

Ezri laughed softly and Jen rolled her eyes; they looked at each other and quietly took the other bed, just as quickly and peacefully falling asleep.


	20. Discussion

Home, after a late breakfast, Lalia and Ezri talked for hours—about TrainingMax and Ezri’s relentless questions, and tomorrow’s planned meeting with Garrett and Amoret, but also nothing in particular.

They moved to the living room; Lalia knelt at Ezri’s feet with her head in her lap, Ezri’s fingers stroking her hair, pulling her up and kissing her now and then. Lalia shifted, with permission, when she hadn’t felt her legs in a while, distracted for a minute by the pins and needles pain of circulation returning; then, later, at Ezri’s beckon, curled up on the couch next to her, head still in her lap. And yet more time later found them both lying down, Lalia’s head on Ezri’s chest, a blanket draped over them.

It was nice, to lie with her in the warm cocoon of the blanket, to talk and kiss and touch and doze when the conversation lulled.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ezri said to her at one point, as she was on the brink of sleep. “I missed you. Looking at you. I just wanna kiss you forever.”

“You can,” Lalia mumbled, shifting sleepily against her. Wondered, still, what drew Ezri to her so strongly.

Ezri smiled. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ezri kissed her forehead. “I adore you.”

“I adore you, too.” She didn’t quite get her eyes open.

“I know it hasn’t been long,” Ezri said, fingering Lalia’s hair, soft strands falling through her fingers, “but you’ve become so precious to me so fast. God, you have no idea. When I thought you were hurt, even just scared, and far away…”

Lalia gave her a light squeeze. “It’s okay now.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a bit.

“Tell me a story?” Lalia asked, as she sometimes did. “Please?”

“Hmm. What kind of story?”

“Tell me about the night we met.” Her favorite one.

Ezri smiled, and told her the story.

Lalia woke about two hours later, Ezri starting to stir. The day was strange but didn’t feel wasted. When they woke properly, Lalia asked, “What should we do now?” stretching a little. “I don’t want… to mess up all the schedules. It’s almost dinner time. I dunno if you were thinking of anything.”

They hadn’t been prepared for Lalia to be back from TrainingMax early, plus sleeping nearly until check out time at the hotel.

“Don’t worry about anything today,” Ezri said. “Tomorrow, we’ll get back to normal. Right now, I want to take you upstairs and fuck you until you scream. It’s been way too long.”

It had. TrainingMax nearly matched the chastity experiment, without the tease of sex that they had anyway, without Ezri at least being able to use her. Lalia laughed. “I’d like that.”

Ezri fulfilled her promise. Lalia pondered that their sound insulation must have been very good, or their neighbors very good at feigning smiles, as she started to come down. She said something about it, blushing.

Ezri laughed. “If it makes you feel better, sweetheart, I feel the same way.” She kissed her neck. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“I’m getting one,” panted Lalia, trying to sit up and failing.

Ezri laughed. “I love you.” She kissed her forehead. “Mine.”

“Yours.” Breathing a little more, “I love you, too.” She sighed contentedly, then said, “It still almost hurts.”

Ezri laughed. “You poor thing. Sore from the fucking you begged for.”

Lalia flushed again. Ezri kissed her again, smiling.

Lalia made them a late dinner.

The next day, Garrett and Amoret were due at two—evidently leaving the trainees on their own for a few hours preferable to not coming as a team, and Garrett wanted his phone—and Jen and Clara were due at one, mostly because Jen insisted.

TrainingMax had already issued a full refund and even sprang for the hospital and hotel bill. Money was apparently not something they would fight over. Their text conversations with Ezri had been stiff but calm. Now there was just one more thing to ask for.

Lalia was nervous and it didn’t surprise her, nor Ezri, but her nervous pacing and cleaning of the house only soothed her so much. Her reading was unfocused, but it was mostly short pieces anyway. She caught up on the phone and laptop she had left at home during TrainingMax, not finding much of interest except the news that Sadie and Travis had predictably broken up, amicably, Sadie now with (and presumably sold to) someone else she seemed happy with. Lalia felt unsure if she should say anything to either of them.

Otherwise, she found she was in a new group chat with Ezri and Jen and Clara.

At the point of Lalia being added, there was a generated message:

 _Clara changed the chat name from_ OT3 _to_ OT4 _._

And some sarcastic banter about it from the other three, with the interspersed cat meme.

It made Lalia feel a little better somehow. Yes, her life had changed drastically because of Ezri, but because of everyone else who had welcomed her in, too. Clara was relentlessly kind to her and had always acted as if they’d known each other forever, not to mention anything else that had happened between them. Even Jen had readily accepted her and was eagerly protective.

She had felt safe and at home with Ezri since the beginning, trusted her from the start, and she didn’t feel, with all that had happened, that it had led her astray yet. Ezri was clearly obsessed with doing the right thing at every step and had been almost reasonable to a fault wherever it mattered, met every one of Lalia’s worries with gentleness and love.

The more positive train of thought was somewhat short lived as the morning went on.

Ezri sighed, observing her pacing in the living room. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she said.

“I know. I don’t know. I don’t want—to just—pretend—I want… to be… ready this time.”

“I know. But this isn’t gonna help you. You should breathe, relax.”

“I dunno. I want—I want it to be fine. I just don’t think… I don’t want just ‘it’ll be fine’—I want… to think about it. I am. I just—”

“You’re overthinking. In a way that will just wind you up.”

“No, it’s not—yes, I am—but I need—to think. I feel like I can’t. It’s just spinning. You say it’s fine. What if it’s not fine? You told me going to TrainingMax would be fine, and then it wasn’t, and—” She cut herself off. _I shouldn’t have said that._

Something flashed over Ezri’s expression.

“I—I’m sorry, I… I shouldn’t have said that.” She got the thought out aloud.

Ezri sat on the couch. “Come here.”

Lalia, still stammering, did, kneeling in front of her.

Ezri took both of her hands in hers. “I understand your concerns.”

“No, no, it’s—I know it’s fine—I’m sorry; I’m just—”

“—Lalia—”

“—Thinking, and overthinking, because that’s what I do, and I’m sorry; it’s not you—”

“— _Lalia_.”

She stopped, back to silent stammers. Her hands shook in Ezri’s. “Yes, ma’am?” she got out, voice far too high.

“Breathe.”

She closed her eyes. Deep breath. Another one. They didn’t come easily. She opened her eyes again but kept them on the floor.

“I understand your concerns,” Ezri began again, slowly. Lalia was quiet this time. “I put you in a dangerous situation and failed to address some important issues.”

“No, it’s not your fault; I’m sorry—”

“Lalia.”

She was quiet again, lowering her head a little.

“It’s completely reasonable for you to have concerns about my judgment. I did assure you that I believed you would be in no imminent danger at TrainingMax, and then you ended up in the ER. That was mostly their failure, and partially mine, and in no way yours. You weren't given a fair opportunity to voice your concerns and had no safeword in place, only the conditions I defined for you. I should've double checked your file and there's no excuse for that, and I’m sorry. I fixed the error immediately to make sure nothing like this happens again. You have every right to be angry or worried. My intentions will never be to put you in a situation that threatens your health or safety, and I’ll never fault you for raising those questions or concerns. And yes, I know that just now you meant to lash out in frustration more than you meant to raise a specific concern. However, I know that when you lash out like that, you do so from a place of anxiety and nervousness. So, is there an underlying issue you’d like to address?”

“No, ma’am,” she said. She wasn’t angry. She trusted Ezri’s judgment still—a paperwork error and a hard to predict situation didn’t make her trust her any less. Still, it was strange to know that Ezri could read her so well, that there was so little she could hide. She’d been frustrated, for a moment, with the empty reassurance, and her filters had failed.

“Lalia.”

Her eyes flicked up to Ezri’s.

“I’ll never be angry at you for being concerned about your safety. Even if it were an irrational fear, I know that feeling unsafe is a powerful motivator towards certain behaviors. If you ever have concerns, or questions—about your safety or your health—I expect you to bring them to me immediately. I won't be angry, or disappointed, or punish you, or tell you to be quiet. Yes, I’d like you to raise those issues in a respectful way, but within any kind of reason, I won't fault you if you can’t. Not now, not ever. That's TrainingMax’s thing, not mine. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.” Ezri tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stroked her cheek for a moment.

Things were peaceful between them as it got closer to the meeting. Lalia even managed to focus on reading.

The doorbell rang at 12:57. Jen and Clara.

Ezri and Jen made a plan, both pacing around the kitchen. They would talk to Garrett and Amoret in the dining room and Clara and Lalia would stay out of the way unless needed. Most likely, if they needed Lalia to confirm information. Lalia couldn’t blame Ezri for not wanting her—or even Clara—around Garrett and Amoret, but she was eager to know the results of the meeting as fast as possible.

Jen held up Garrett’s phone at one point to show she had brought it.

“Oh—when _did_ you steal his phone?” Ezri asked. “He was there for like, two minutes.”

Jen laughed. “Why do you think I let Clara hit him, too? He was distracted.”

“There were a few other good reasons,” Clara said, but that was evident enough in the _too._

“Did you… watch the footage?” Ezri asked Jen with a strange note of carefulness in her voice.

“Yeah. Why?”

Lalia wasn’t sure if she should have more mixed feelings on that. She knew there were some good logistic reasons for Ezri—and Jen—to know as much about what had happened as possible, but it felt… strange. Like being spied on.

“Did they… do anything wrong? Logistically? As far as… what do you call it? Drowning play?”

“Drowning play works,” Jen shrugged. “Technically drowning implies death; medically it’s just respiratory impairment; Lalia would’ve counted by that. I wouldn’t say TrainingMax was playing, but, ‘play’ gives you the idea when you don’t get to that level, for fun. Anyway. Not really. The gag wasn’t a brilliant idea, physically, but I wouldn’t bother playing that up. Their timing was… well, it should've been fine, since they didn’t know there was a preexisting condition. If I did exactly what they did, with Clara, it would've been a great time, basically. I wouldn’t have used the gag, but even if I did, it would’ve been fine.”

“We should do that again soon,” Clara murmured hopefully, fingertips brushing Jen’s shoulder as she went to refill her water. Lalia was still figuring out the exact pattern of Clara’s touchiness with Jen when she wanted something, but she knew it was there.

“Right,” said Ezri simply, thinking.

And somehow, Lalia hadn’t given a lot of thought to the idea that people did drowning play—or whatever better term there might be—for fun. It was, she supposed, a legitimate kink. That TrainingMax had used it for punishment meant nothing—even Ezri used similar looking methods for discipline and play distinguished only by intention, routine, and pain level. She couldn’t imagine liking drowning play herself, but could fathom why others might. It was, at its core, about pain and helplessness like any other scene.

“So. Backup plan.” Jen pulled two things out of her bag. “Hold onto this.” She handed Ezri one of the objects, set the other on the table.

Ezri rotated part of it and pulled the knife’s blade out, poked it. “Sharp?” she asked. “Or are we bluffing?”

Jen scoffed and took it back from her. “Of course they’re sharp. —Clara, get over here.”

“I get the idea—”

Too late. Jen blithely ignored her. Clara all but skipped over.

Ezri sighed. Lalia watched with curiosity.

Jen held Clara’s wrist, nudged her sleeve out of the way, said, “Stay still now, darling~” and without further warning, gave a quick slash of the knife across Clara’s arm.

She hissed and jerked her wrist back out of Jen’s grasp, who asked, “What did I just say?” though she had released her when the blade was just out of the way.

Clara, with a reluctant whimper, offered her wrist again. Jen took it, trading one blade for the other, setting it so the bloodied handle didn’t touch the table. “Don’t look at the knife. Look at me.” Clara’s eyes flicked up to hers. Jen repeated the slash with this one and Clara swore as she yanked her arm back this time.

“Great,” said Ezri, running her hands over her face, “now we’re threatening them with bloody knives.”

“No; it’s bad for the blade.” She pressed it to Clara’s lips, who lapped it clean obediently, then the other.

“I... have nothing left to say,” said Ezri. “Lalia, get them some antiseptic, would you, and disinfect that.” Vague gesture at the few drops of blood that had reached the floor.

Lalia, who was also about out of things to say, complied, a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” and curtsy and running off to find the needed supplies.

When she returned, Clara was actually cleaning the knives. Lalia dried the second one for her when she finished cleaning the floor and noted the handle’s engraving, _Use it well,_ with a heart, and said, “God, we really did all come from the Harry Potter fandom,” mostly to herself, though the phrase was fairly generic. Clara’s laugh, though, confirmed her suspicion, as Lalia handed her the antiseptic.

“Yes. And I tried so hard to make sure I wasn’t selling Clara to a serial killer,” said Ezri. “Harry Potter fan, clean background check, good credit... references that... existed.”

“I had good references,” Jen said.

“You listed your vet’s office.”

“And what did they say? I take very good care of my pets.” She kissed Clara’s nose, who scowled half heartedly.

“I somehow missed you being a clinical psychopath,” sighed Ezri.

“One diagnostic point off," Jen said cheerfully.

“And four points over in the UK,” said Clara.

Jen swatted at her. “Maybe I don’t beat my pets enough. Any of them.”

Lalia did understand Ezri’s mixed feelings, though she was busy reflecting that the more she heard Jen and Clara talk about their six ridiculously named cats, the more amusing it got. She’d noted that Clara called the cats by whatever title was in their name and Jen by the part that sounded like a name. It had taken her a few more rundowns of the cats to remember that _the Marquis_ and _Whiskerton_ were the same cat, for starters.

That was about as productive as the conversation got again before Garrett and Amoret rang the bell at 2:04.

Clara and Lalia had been instructed to take the living room, away from the other four. Lalia had no idea how long the meeting was expected to go and she was fairly sure that was because no one else had a specific expectation either. She longed to know what was happening, even if she didn’t like the idea of being in the middle of it.

She realized she was a little spaced out thinking about it, and there was nowhere good for it to go; she tried to distract herself by rambling at Clara about the reading she’d done that morning—internal enslavement, a hard concept to find a lot about in BDSM writings, but it was out there—and she’d started flipping through some of her psychology books and old notes trying to find the more scientific angle, finding correlated ideas but not the exact same thing in vanilla language.

“I don’t know,” she said, realizing she’d been pacing, and sitting on the other couch. “I don’t think I’m—there. But it’s… interesting? A little scary? Like, I want, to have that, because I feel like I _should_ , but it’s… would I even know if I did?”

“You’d know,” said Clara. “It takes time. No matter how much you do in that time, I think. You’d probably just… realize it one day when it’s strong enough to notice.”

At this, Lalia perked up. “So, you—think you’ve… done it? I don’t know what all the phrasing is.”

Clara shrugged off the phrasing question. “Yeah. I couldn’t tell you exactly when. A little over a year was when I think I realized it.”

“Well,” said Lalia, then paused, thinking. “How did you realize it?”

“It was just kind of weird, in the moment. I dunno. Jen made some joke about a scene we’d done—there was edging involved—I got really close to coming before she told me to. Which is like, the stupidest thing to have this realization over, I know. But—she made some joke centered around, what if I did, and normally, if she said something like that, if anyone did, a scenario, I would just kind of—” she gestured “—picture it. Automatically. But I kind of got like, this mental error message instead of a picture. It was like—really fuzzy. Staticy, like an old TV. And that was kind of weird, so then I tried to, harder—and it just felt… really distant. Like a dream you can’t really remember. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I just kind of kept… zoning out mid thought. I just couldn’t…” she gestured again, lost for words “… fathom it. Like, not like, ‘Oh, the horror,’ but like, I just couldn’t keep hold of a thought train that was going that direction. If I got too close to putting words together, suddenly I was back at the start of my mental sentence again and kind of nauseous.”

“So like—what about memories?” asked Lalia with interest. “You told me about running away like you remembered it.”

“I—yeah. I mean, I guess I kind of… remember the story of it? I don’t think I gave you a super detailed version. Like, I remember the big points of it. It’s not extremely vague, but. Some of the details got lost that you’d think I’d remember from something that was such a big deal. Not important stuff—just, you’d think, the overall importance, my brain would’ve held on to more things even though it’s been a while. What we were drinking, what Jen was wearing, whatever. It’s just more like I remember the memory of it I had closer to the time more than I remember the thing itself. Like a dream. You kind of remember… what memory you had of it in your head when you woke up. But how can you remember sleeping? Y’know?”

“I…” She wasn’t going to launch into the science of dreams here. She got what Clara meant. “It kind of sounds dissociative.”

Clara shrugged. “I guess. I don’t normally dissociate much.”

Lalia’s phone started buzzing repeatedly to remind her of rotating the laundry. She shut the timer. “Does it scare you?” she asked, standing. “I mean—not to be weird. But… to know there are things you can’t clearly think about anymore?”

Clara noticed her edging towards the doorway and followed her. “Not really,” she said. “I mean, it’s weird if I think about it like, ‘My head’s all fucked up.’” She leant against the wall while Lalia moved laundry around, washer to dryer, hamper to washer. “But it’s not… it doesn’t _scare_ me. Like, I know what the effects are, I’m okay with them, I know who’s doing it, I trust her. I don’t need more than that.”

“Did… hmm. Did you do it on purpose? Either of you?”

“I don’t think we like, sat down and set it as a goal. We kind of figured it would happen at some point whenever it came up. Jen could talk psychology with you—she’s into all that stuff. She’s probably done a lot of things on purpose I haven’t noticed. Some I have. I don’t really know what I could've done.”

“What has she done that you’ve noticed?”

“Mm. I know she’s played with some classical conditioning stuff on me. Like, certain sounds, scents, all that, that you develop a certain response to. The ringing a bell and feeding the dogs thing and then you just ring the bell and they’re still salivating. Some probably subconsciously. Others she tried being straightforward about. If there’s a difference—I obviously don’t know. Or stuff that was almost too simple to be that.”

“Like what?”

"Like—okay, one time I was getting ready for bed, and she’d left this one whip laying out. Fuckin' evil one. You said no to it when we played. It was the one she used when I ran. And the reality was she’d been looking at it to compare with something new she was working on and forgotten about it being there, but I kind of had that nausea and tension and palpitations and was breathing a little shallow like she’d hit me with it or something, or like—well, I think the memory of that night it got some good use without warmup was clearer then; we’d just played with it less maybe—and it was just sitting there. And she came in for bed, too, and I asked what was up, and, y’know, she told me she’d forgotten all about it—but she could tell I’d had that little reaction and got kind of quiet the rest of the night, and then—when I was having the sort of day where she wanted me to shut up a little, but it wasn’t like, one big incident, she’d just leave it laying out in my room. And if I mentioned it, she’d say I could put it away. Didn’t use it. Just left it sitting there. And I'd shut up. Automatically.”

Lalia thought. “Ezri leaves the cane on the mantel,” she said finally. She’d pondered that implement, more the paddle next to it, recently, since she’d returned, an idea forming she wasn’t sure about sharing.

“Not fond of that one either,” said Clara, but smiled. “I imagine that’s kind of the same general idea. Eventually your eyes start going right over it though; it’s always there. It’ll be a really subtle reminder. Slightly different than, this is definitely out of place. And I guess it works either way. I wasn’t as into it.”

“I guess.” Laundry done, they went back to the living room.

“I mean—I guess the thing for you two is, she’d use it. I don’t think Jen leaves that whip out as a threat of using it. We don’t do punishment like that, since that one time. I mean, she kind of calls it, I can say or do, mostly say, what I want but I have to deal with her _reaction._ If I say something that makes her want to smack me, she’ll do it. If I sit on the couch and she wants me on the floor, she’ll shove me to the floor. It’s not a _punishment_ , per se. It’s not Ezri’s whole ritual or a big deal. Which felt overdone to me. It is what it is. Jen wants what she wants moment to moment and I read the room correctly or I don’t. Sometimes it entertains her if I push and sometimes it ends up with a knife at my throat. It means I flinch when she moves half the time, which would look really bad to the right person, but it also keeps life interesting.”

Lalia wasn’t sure she wanted life to be that interesting, disinterest in knife play aside, though she too had noticed her own occasional flinch at an odd gesture of Ezri’s, even when certain things were kept for what was definitely play. What she liked about Ezri’s specific protocol was exactly that she didn’t have to read the room and risk being wrong. She didn’t need to question what was punishment and when it was over. But that was her own anxiety, and Ezri’s wants were consistent and traditional; they both valued that structure. A matter of compatibility. Perhaps part of what had once driven Clara and Ezri apart.

“Sorry I’m asking a million questions. I’m… a psychology major.”

Clara laughed. “You’re fine.” Her phone rang. “I gotta take this,” she said, and stood but didn’t leave, paced a little. “Hey, Jazzy, what’s up? Really? Aww, that’s so great, sweetie; I’m so proud of you. I know you worked really hard on that. Congratulations.”

Lalia wasn’t sure who Jazzy was, but the words, tone, and sudden rise in pitch reminded her of watching Clara with the kids in her class. It also reminded her of her own student teaching and the substituting she’d done.

Clara hung up fairly soon though. “I love you, too. Have fun. Bye.”

“Who was that?” Lalia couldn’t help but ask.

“Jasmine,” said Clara, which didn’t help. “My… daughter sister person.”

“Wait, what?” She wasn’t sure how she could have missed that. “You have kids? Sorry, I’m asking a million more questions now.”

Clara laughed. “Kinda. My mom died, when I was eighteen—and it’d always just been her. Me, Jasmine, Evan—my brother—three different fathers, none of them stuck. Jaz was six, Evan was twelve. I went, ‘Okay, these are my kids now.’ Life insurance money wasn’t voided by a sudden heart attack, so it kinda worked out, enough I could mostly focus on the kids, which Mom didn’t get to. Ev was getting into bad crowds and Jaz is autistic and was worse off then than now; the first thing I did was pull her outta school; it wasn’t working; I homeschooled. Neither of them are local anymore. We’re not in constant touch, especially Evan. Jaz is twenty-five now, taking her time finishing up college. Ev is thirty-one. God.”

“Older than me,” said Lalia.

“Don’t remind me.”

They laughed, and moved subjects to vanilla education with disabilities.

Meanwhile, Ezri and Jen and Garrett and Amoret had settled in the dining room.

“You know,” said Garrett a little helplessly, “I think this has all gotten out of hand and we’re all a little confused. Let’s get back to basics. I’m Garrett. Who are you?” He directed the question at Jen, holding out a hand to her.

“You know what you need to know about me,” she said, and didn’t shake his hand.

“Lovely,” he said, and withdrew it. “Anyway. Ah… so, there is the matter of my phone?”

“Yes, the phone you stole while committing assault,” Amoret jumped in. “Why don’t you just give that to us and no one more gets hurt?”

“Yes, the phone with all the evidence of putting someone with a medical condition in the ER via dubiously consensual drowning? That phone?” Ezri asked.

Garrett and Amoret looked at each other. They hadn’t yet discussed the footage.

“And let’s only make threats we'll follow through on, shall we, darling~?" Jen asked Amoret.

“We have our evidence,” said Ezri. “If you want to counter with someone getting punched after the fact, you have a weak case.”

“I’ll follow through.” Amoret’s attention was still on Jen.

Several things happened very quickly and Garrett cried out in surprise and Ezri just sighed; at the end of the skirmish, Amoret was pinned to the dining room wall with one of the knives Jen had produced earlier in the kitchen at her throat. “See, if I pull a weapon, you either also pull a weapon or came unarmed,” Jen told her.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jenevieve; this is not how the law works; sit down,” said Ezri.

Jen smiled at Amoret and let her go, sat next to Ezri again. Amoret, looking maybe a little less shaken than expected, also sat again.

“I almost managed to forget you had that,” Ezri said as Jen put the knife away.

“Chekhov's knife,” said Jen cheerfully, though Ezri didn’t manage to laugh.

“Speaking of the law," said Amoret, "where do you see this going? You like your odds in court that they won’t bring up, what, several years of involvement in human trafficking? Remember that one big trainer who got thrown in prison for it?”

“No,” said Ezri; “he got thrown in prison for his stupid money laundering coverup. They never actually managed to pin him for human trafficking itself.”

“And there’s nothing questionable they’d get you for? Let’s see, whose job was it to disclose that medical condition?”

“Whose job was it to wait a minute when someone was trying to give them information?” Ezri countered.

“Oh, yes, I forgot that I’m supposed to be endlessly patient with supposed adults who panic the moment they’re faced with not getting their way.”

"Ah, yes, real adults know that the answer to not getting their way is to drown someone in a bathtub.”

Jen laughed. Garrett sighed.

“Okay,” said Garrett, “as thrilling a direction as these one liners are going, what do you want out of this? What we want is for this case to be closed. No more meetings, no court. No more punching or phone stealing.”

“You have a trainee right now,” said Ezri. “Tamora Flores.” That had been an easy reverse image search from her FetLife profile. “I want you to transfer her to my training program. Where she’ll either be found a… better match, or allowed to leave the network if she wants. Either way safely extracted from her situation.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to tell her Owner?” Amoret asked.

“That he’s an abusive piece of shit, and that if he doesn’t agree, you’ll release this anywhere the scene or network will listen.” Ezri pulled a stapled packet of papers out of a folder and handed it to them. It contained responses from a variety of former play partners of Tamora’s Master’s that Ezri had found through FetLife, claiming safeword violations, safety issues, harassment, blackmail, rape, and assault. Some had been slower to admit to the issue than others, especially knowing it might be released, but it was all there now.

“This is a wreck,” said Garrett.

Amoret sighed. “Wasn’t that bright a guy,” she shrugged to Garrett. “And didn’t have any... friends." She looked at Jen for second. "Might be better to piss him off than them.”

“Give us a minute alone?” Garrett asked.

Ezri and Jen let them talk. Ezri paced in the kitchen and Jen mostly watched her. “I’ve said this before,” she admitted, not loud enough for the dining room to hear, “but I think it’ll be fine.”

And it was. Garrett and Amoret came into the kitchen and Garrett said, “Okay. So if we transfer Tamora to your program effective tomorrow, you’ll return my phone and not pursue anything else?”

“Agreed,” said Ezri.

“Then I believe we finally have a deal.”


	21. A New Start

Lalia and Ezri had dinner alone that night; Ezri retreated to her office afterwards and Lalia went about cleaning up dinner and handling some leftovers.

After spending a few minutes jumping and blindly trying to reach something on top of the fridge, Lalia said, “I believe,” out loud to herself even as she pondered giving up and finding a step ladder, trying again.

“I also believe,” said Ezri from the doorway.

Lalia jumped out of her skin, whirling to face her.

“Having fun, sweetheart?” 

“Bored housewife syndrome,” she said, still looking a little startled. “It’s the little things.” 

Ezri laughed. “So you don’t want any help?” 

“I mean… since you’re here. If you really wanted to.” Realized she was panting a little.

Ezri rolled her eyes, swatted at her arm, but easily grabbed the box of reusable zipper bags from the top of the fridge and handed it to her.

“Thank you. Ma’am.” 

“Well, since I was here.” She tapped her nose. “Happy to help, little one.” 

Lalia gave a slight pout. Ezri poked her lips. 

“This is short people phobic.” Hesitantly playful smile. 

“I’ll put this back where I found it, Lalia.” Tapped the box. Grinning at her.

“No, no, I’ll… ah, take the help.” Out of witty responses apparently.

“Good girl.” Her fingers were tight in Lalia’s hair, though the tug down was slight, more guiding than pulling with how quickly Lalia followed the gesture, setting the box next to her. She released her and undid her jeans and nudged them just out of the way and tugged Lalia’s mouth to her, another gesture that was more guide than pull. “There you are. Don’t worry, you don’t need to be tall. No one would notice anyway with how much time you spend on your knees. Right where you belong.” 

Lalia gave a small moan, though muffled. 

Ezri let her continue for a few more moments, then pulled her off of her, fixed her clothes, smiled, pet her hair, said, “Well, you have the bags now. I’ll let you do whatever you were doing with them,” and walked out.

Lalia found her a bit later, standing in her office doorway until beckoned in. “I… it’s not important. I don’t want to bother you.” 

“Go right ahead.”

Lalia handed her a piece of paper. “I found this while I was organizing some memorabilia. Thought you might find it… entertaining.” Pointed to the comments section on a fifth grade report card.

“Oh, let’s see what we have here.” She pulled Lalia onto her lap in a way that made her giggle. “Did you behave yourself in school?” 

Lalia smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Hmm, let’s see. ‘Eulalia is a pleasure to have in class. She is always polite, respectful, and well behaved.’” She tapped Lalia’s nose. "I have to agree. ‘Her passion for learning is clear and she is a bright student. She is eager to be helpful and of service to others as shown by her community service extracurriculars this semester.’ All right, that’s almost heavy handed.” She laughed. “‘She is a role model for other students. I wish her the best of luck in sixth grade.’” Ezri kissed her nose. “A plus. You have not changed.”

Lalia giggled.

“And straight A’s, too. They agree with me. Well it’s only been, what…” She looked at the date. “… Eleven years. Fuck.” She shook her head. “Well, no ruler swats or lines on a chalkboard for you today, my darling.” She kissed her cheek. “Though you might've liked that.”

“Just a little.” 

“I got paddled in school once,” said Ezri thoughtfully. “Not much, but my parents were pissed at the school for it. Got outlawed a few years later.”

“What did you do? I forgot that was like, a thing that recently." 

“It's still fucking legal in most of the South. I got dress coded. I behaved, normally—I wasn’t you but I wasn’t a problem. But I wore one of my sister’s skirts one day and the principal had no idea what to make of it. I learned that I don’t like skirts anyway and I don’t like being on the other end of paddles. Daphne was just pissed I stole her clothes.” 

Lalia giggled. Ezri stroked her hair.

They were quiet for a minute. Speaking of such activities, Lalia’s mind wandered back to the idea she’d had forming that she wasn’t sure if she should share.

Something might have shown up on her face.

“What’s on your mind, hmm?” Ezri asked.

“Not much,” she tried.

“Honestly,” said Ezri, with a slight eye roll of disbelief, tilting her head back towards her.

Lalia bit her lip. She wasn’t sure if stating her thoughts would qualify as _asking_ , or if preventative discipline—or whatever close thing she wanted—was something she was still allowed to ask for. Ezri had said explicitly that she was allowed to ask when the system was instated, mostly to emphasize that it was supposed to be beneficial to her, even desired—not a punishment—but hadn’t mentioned it when she revoked permission to ask for things like sex or play. This was neither, really, but perhaps close—especially if it wasn’t all that she was looking for. Not sure how to phrase around it, she said, “I think it might be breaking a rule,” carefully. “To tell you.” 

Ezri considered. There was little that Lalia was never allowed to say, in any tone, especially that would preoccupy her mind worth mentioning, worth prodding at the rule for. “The rule on not asking for sex or play or masturbating?” 

“Yes,” Lalia said. “Ma’am.” 

“Is it basically the desire for one of those things?” 

“I… it’s for something I’m not sure counts as one of those things.” 

Interesting. “You may speak freely,” she said. “And assume it doesn’t.” 

“I was thinking about the preventative discipline,” said Lalia slowly, waiting for a sign to continue. Ezri nodded, understanding dawning. “And I… it’s hard to explain. Like, I don’t want it for… anything in particular? But I was gone for a while—and kind of—not out of… like, a general submissive headspace—and it’s not like we didn’t talk—and I know we don’t have to be physically together to—but… our routines and all...” Words evaded her.

“You spent a very long amount of time, proportionally, not much being directly submissive to me and out of the structure of being home.” 

“Yes,” said Lalia. 

“And you want something like the preventative discipline to establish the general return to that.”

“Yes.” Lowering her gaze a little. “Ma’am.” 

“Predicament protocol,” Ezri smiled. “I didn’t intend to ban asking for preventative discipline with that rule, but it was a reasonable interpretation. Yes, we can do that. Is there anything else to it?” 

“… Catharsis?” Lalia tried, not sure of the word more than the request this time. “I want to cry. And not like, stop there. Just…” 

“Get it out of your system.” 

“Yes.”

“Anything else?” 

Lalia shook her head.

“I think that’s very reasonable.” She nudged her; Lalia shifted off of her lap and stood. “You may go fetch the paddle and come back here and present it.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” A delicate curtsy and she left. 

She returned with said implement and closed the door behind her, knelt in front of Ezri and offered it. Ezri took it with a small smile. “Over the desk.” 

Lalia followed the order in silence, though it wasn’t tense. She felt minimal nerves and mostly relief. She needed this. In a way, maybe they both did. Ezri’s touch was gentle and slightly clinical, moving her clothes out of the way, one hand settling near her waist. She felt vulnerable but not dangerously so.

She felt the paddle tap her a few times, just tap, and her body knew when the first real stroke was coming before she did, tensing when the paddle withdrew a split second too long, though she was still surprised when it came. And again and again, hard. She whimpered, tried to breathe through the pain.

“You’re a very good girl for telling me what you need,” said Ezri. “We all have methods of stress relief—” Lalia squirmed under the attentions of the paddle; Ezri’s hand was firm at her back “—and yours happens to be getting your ass beaten.” 

Lalia made a small sound and went still again, tears springing to her eyes. She clutched the other edge of the desk. Breathing. If she could control her breathing, she could control the urge to squirm.

“I won’t try to call it anything else. What you need is to be right here over my desk, for a nice long while, getting beaten until you cry. And you’re going to be here, until I think you’ve gotten what you need.” 

A few tears escaped, hiccuped sobs, but something prideful in her was still fighting to keep them in control. Her body was starting to give in to not fighting, only the occasional lurch towards one direction or the other, but the urge towards stoicism remained.

“Lucky for you, one of my stress relief methods happens to be beating you. I’m happy to give you what you need, now, so you can focus later. On serving me and pleasing me and being useful to me _as… I… see… fit._ ” 

Something gave. The tears came freely and it felt good, stupidly good, to cry and let every fear and worry get to her and come out as tears. She’d missed the quiet that came in a few moments, the safe quiet of knowing that every decision was in Ezri’s hands and she didn’t have to think about them. She just had to trust her. And that had always come so easily. 

She cried, shaking, shuddering sobs, but she went still without noticing at first; Ezri’s touch at her back was barely there, just a soothing tactile reminder of her presence. The paddle hurt but in a very sustainable way, like she could take it forever, no longer aware of the pain building or the spike of each individual stroke, just the steady sensation of endurable pain. 

“I love you,” Ezri said, gentler, “and I love owning you. You make me proud to call you mine every day.” 

Her tears quieted to shaky breaths. Usually, when Ezri said such kind things, her mind went spinning with questions, with _why._ Right now, she couldn’t fathom questions, only the contented feeling of being owned and loved.

The paddle slowed, then stopped. Ezri stroked her back. “Last six.” 

Lalia counted quickly, but her voice shook. The tears didn’t quite return. Six. “Please may I have another?” 

“You may not,” said Ezri gently, rubbing her back again.

In a few minutes, she managed to collect her thoughts that seemed to be floating away from her, find the energy to dress and return the paddle to its place. She felt much better. Her mind less cluttered. Her thoughts peacefully slower.

Ezri, too, seemed in a pleasantly calm mood as they got ready for bed.

Lalia fell asleep contentedly on her blanket nearby.

Ezri was already half awake when she started hearing the strange sounds, hours later; she identified it, leaning over the side of the bed, as Lalia tossing and turning as if she couldn’t get comfortable; but she looked asleep, at least to Ezri, squinting in the dark. Lalia whimpered, turned over again, mumbled something she couldn’t make out. 

Ezri called her name quietly. No response. She didn’t want to startle her awake. She shifted to the floor and shook her shoulder lightly, called her name again. Lalia twitched awake and blinked at her sleepily in confusion. “I… is there… something I can do for you, ma’am?” The instinctual words were slightly slurred with sleepiness. 

Ezri smiled a little, but said, “No; it just looked like you were having a bad dream,” and tucked a strand of hair behind Lalia’s ear, loose from a tangled ponytail half undone by her tossing and turning.

“Maybe. I was, I think,” she said, rubbing at her eyes, yawning. 

“What was it about?” 

“I… hmm, don’t remember it very well. TrainingMax… I think you were there.”

“Hmm.” She fingered the end of Lalia’s ponytail. “Come back to bed with me.” 

“You don’t have to… I’m not a child. It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I know,” said Ezri, standing. “Now do as I tell you and come to bed with me.” 

Lalia accepted the hand she offered with a lowered gaze and also stood, slid in the bed after her and curled up close to her, settling with her back to Ezri’s side, head on Ezri’s arm that was wrapped around her. Ezri kissed the top of her head. “Good girl.” 

The morning brought final preparations for Tamora’s arrival, mostly trying to figure out the paperwork. While they tried to prepare for a range of possibilities, Lalia’s theory was that Tamora didn’t want to leave the network—she’d just had bad luck at first.

“Oh, where did your journal go, with the logs?” Ezri asked, remembering. “Might have something useful.” 

Lalia froze. She’d hadn’t touched the journal since she was at TrainingMax, completely emptied and unpacked her bag when she got home… the one that Garrett or Amoret had brought to the ER.

“They didn’t give that back, did they?” Ezri asked, eyeing her expression.

Lalia shook her head.

“No chance they would’ve missed it?” 

“Not… really.” It had been out of sight, out of mind for them at TrainingMax, but it had been kept in the same limited space she had for clothes and such, wrapped in things that _had_ been returned.

“Great,” sighed Ezri. “Anything in there worth fighting them for?” 

Lalia shook her head. “Not even enough we wanted it before they came yesterday,” she pointed out grimly.

Ezri shrugged in resigned agreement. “You should try to reconstruct what you can, before you forget things. You can be more frank now. And what happened before and after.”

Lalia spent a lot of time on that before Tamora arrived. 

Evidently, Garrett and Amoret had tired of leaving the trainees alone, or the drive, or being around Ezri and anyone associated. It was Olivia who arrived with Tamora. She didn’t say anything, looking uncharacteristically nervous and seeming to be bound by some kind of protocol, but she scribbled something on a piece of paper and slipped the note into Lalia’s hand as she handed off Tamora’s suitcase and quickly departed.

Lalia barely noticed the paper in her hand she would normally be eager to read as the door closed behind Olivia, because she was busy staring at Tamora.

The outfit she wore was reasonable for what would probably be the last heat wave of the year, though Lalia wondered if the outfit had been her choice; it very easily revealed a litany of bruises and welts that were new at least from when Lalia had seen her last, still striking against the bits of unmarked bronze skin. Tamora had not even cited herself as a masochist, let alone a heavy one, and was smaller and more fragile looking than even Lalia. Ezri, appearing in her peripheral vision, also seemed a little unnerved, saying, “Hello,” to Tamora but sounding distant.

Lalia unfolded the note from Olivia. _It’s all gone to shit. Tamora vanished yesterday afternoon until the car ride. Riley freaked last night and tried to run. They vanished, too. God bless._

Tamora laughed uneasily, looking between both of them. “Uh… I… hi. I… don’t know why I’m… here?” But she looked a little hopeful, as shaken as she seemed.

Lalia handed the note to Ezri.

“Fuck,” she said, rubbing at her neck. “Okay. I think we all need to catch up. Wait.” She took in a breath and released it, looked at Tamora. “Hi. Let’s start over. I’m Ezri, Lalia’s Owner. This is our house. You must be Tamora.” She held out her hand.

Tamora shook it with a weak, shaky grasp. “Yes, ma’am.” Laugh again. She was… not doing well.

“Okay,” said Ezri one more time, looking a little lost, which was extra disconcerting to Lalia. “Let’s start with this. You are bound by no rules and TrainingMax or your… Master, will have no idea what happens here.” Pause. "Are you… hungry?” 

Tamora, looking surprised, said, “Uh, yeah, I… I could eat.”

“Why don’t you go get comfortable somewhere in the kitchen?” She gestured in the right direction. "Lalia will make you something.” 

“Sure, yeah, uh, thanks.” Tamora followed the gesture.

Ezri looked at Lalia. “Okay. This is not what we expected.” 

“Ah… no, it… really isn’t.” Tamora’s nervous giggle was apparently contagious.

“Go make her something breakfasty. Try to figure out what the fuck happened. Tell her what happened on our end. She already knows you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” She offered a curtsy but didn’t get to leave first anyway; Ezri was already halfway up the stairs. 

So she went back to Tamora in the kitchen, who was sitting at the island. Started food. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Tamora said. “I didn’t know.” Then added, “Thanks. For what you did. For trying.” 

That might have explained Olivia’s impromptu note, then. Everyone was lost. “I… I’ve been fine. It’s—fine. So what… happened to _you_?” she asked. “After that one inspection?” 

“Uh… well, not much at first,” she said. “You went with Lady... Amoret.” She frowned at the lack of rules in confusion for a moment.

“Amoret,” said Lalia. There was certainly no need to call her by a title here. 

“Right. And the rest of us went to bed. Then there was a commotion. Some point later. Soon. I dunno, I think there were like—EMTs? And we all woke up from that. And then it was quiet, and then... Garrett came in at some point and put a note on the inside of the door. That he and Amoret were leaving to handle something and they’d be back soon. And I fell asleep. And then Amoret came back, at some point, and took me out of the room and we went to her office, and she asked me a bunch of questions, but I didn’t know what was going on. She asked if I was like, working for someone? Like I was spying on them. I dunno. I had no idea. She punished me a bit. I don’t know for what. Just, y’know…”

Lalia nodded encouragingly, though she was also running around a little with the cooking. She realized she—or Ezri—would need to address the spy thing later. Oddly, neither Amoret nor Garrett had made much mention of it if they’d deduced that. It was a little hard to prove, and they might have neglected it on that count when they had other things to focus on.

“And then sent me back to bed. And then the next day was like, normal. And then the next… Garrett and Amoret left for a bit, and when they came back, Amoret took me into a spare bedroom and punished me again, but like, more, and…” she gestured at herself helplessly “… everywhere. And then left me there.” 

Lalia noted the wording of _punished_ and wondered if it was euphemism or philosophy.

“And then… I was alone, but then later… that night, Amoret brought Riley in and punished them, too. But they were gagged and couldn’t tell me anything, and Amoret told me not to say anything, but I don’t know what I really would’ve said. Then, today, Olivia came in, and took me here. She didn’t say anything either. And then I was here.” 

Lalia slid her food and made a _go ahead_ gesture. Tamora hadn’t eaten in about a day, then, and nerves didn’t seem to be countering that fact as she ate eagerly. Her dark hair seemed a little limp and tangled.

Ezri came in before Lalia had quite thought of what to say next. How to recount her own side of this story. They moved to the breakfast nook and all three sat at the table. Lalia gave a quick summary to Ezri; Ezri recapped for Tamora what had happened to Lalia since they had seen each other last, why Tamora was here and how the deal was made. And Lalia's initial motive for being at TrainingMax.

“I thought—well, I still think,” said Ezri at the end, “that with the new certification program, TrainingMax thought having a majordomo type might be useful, and they were hoping to recruit her eventually.” Gesture at Lalia. “I don’t think they’ll be trying that on us again, but God knows about someone else.” She sighed. “Okay. I think we've covered the past as much as we can at this point. Let’s talk about the future.”

Tamora had not really offered much comment on a lot of the past summary. Perhaps at this point none of it was comparatively shocking, and Ezri had offered reassurance after reassurance. After being presented the basic options, she said, “Well… I like the network, so far. I haven’t, uh, seen—a lot of it. But I’ve met some really nice people, who understand… things. I don’t think it’s all bad. I was kinda hoping… I mean, if I did well at TrainingMax—maybe I’d get sold. To someone, uh… different. But that all… didn’t happen.”

Overall, she showed awareness of how bad the situations had been, and hesitant eagerness to leave when presented with a good opportunity.

They spent hours planning a brief training program that Tamora could be sold at the end of. She’d already had _some_ useful things from her former Master and TrainingMax and didn’t need much more to be sold to a basic arrangement. She had no other occupation in the way—not allowed, despite the financial flux her Master’s impulse purchases, including TrainingMax, and lack of ability to hold down a job had caused, and no real assets. She had little in her Master’s house that she wanted back, but there were a few things—she was able to make a list and Ezri said she’d arrange it without having to send Tamora back there, calling on the more imposing looking Charlie and Dennis who were eager to help once they got a very basic understanding of the situation. Ezri had Tamora, too, try to recreate a record of everything that had happened with TrainingMax, comparing stories with Lalia.

Tamora was still a little more flinchy than even her usual but hopeful as the day wound down, dinner over, settling into a guest room. Lalia felt positive about the idea they might manage to help her, at least, if there were still unanswered questions about Riley and the others.

Ezri got in touch with Tamora’s now former Master, and while he was not exactly cheerful, she didn’t think he cared to be much of a threat. That much was good.

“I’m glad you… came to TrainingMax from somewhere good,” Tamora told her when Lalia checked on her later. She was already in bed, but awake with a book Ezri had already shoved at her. “I mean, you two—you both seem really happy together. The way you look at each other, like—it’s all there. How in love you are.” 

Lalia smiled shyly. “Yeah. I got lucky.” 

“Her too, I think,” said Tamora, with a sleepy stretch.

Lalia found Ezri next for a final check in, still in her office. Knelt next to her. 

“I wanted to show you something, but I don’t think I quite finished it in time. So, these aren’t final thoughts. But…” She straightened a few papers on her desk. “For drafting the Ownership contract.” That had been much more her job thus far than Lalia’s, unlike the consideration one. She handed a piece of paper to her. “Some conditions. I was thinking—well, through all of the TrainingMax issues. And what they expect people to… put up with? And I added some conditions that—if these things happen, the contract is considered void and you are to immediately invoke the dissolution clause yourself. For safety. We could discuss more then, depending, I guess, but it would be from a new beginning.” 

Lalia frowned but looked at the conditions. They were very reasonable conditions to want to terminate the contract under. Generally citing out of hand abuse, and morality issues—asking her to put others in that situation. She didn’t see any of them happening, not with the reasonable and morality obsessed Ezri—but she knew it was important to Ezri to make sure that such things couldn’t happen even if she wanted them one day. “I think it’s a fine addition,” she said.

“Good. I’ll… get some of the wording better, I think, but… that draft should be the idea of it.” 

Lalia eyed the mess of papers and the ink that had smeared over Ezri’s hand. She didn’t personally understand Ezri’s interest in handwriting in the modern day, but she was fondly attracted to the trait in her, anyway.

“I also…” Ezri sighed. She pulled yet more papers out of a drawer, handed the small stack to her. “This is for you. I… tried to write one coherent draft and got nowhere and I… it was meant to be for when you got home from TrainingMax. But I think you might just… be entertained to read the notes and drafts as is. Otherwise, you’ll never get to read any of it, at this rate.” 

Lalia laughed a little, and flipped through some of the pages. There were massive readable but crossed out sections, most of the pages topped with, _My dearest Lalia,_ and random notes in margins and one in the middle of a page that held nothing after it, _I swear we’re not lovers, I just—_ that made her laugh again. The makings of a love letter. She’d have to give it a more focused read alone.

“Thank you,” she said, and shifted to kneel up and kiss her cheek. 

Ezri uncharacteristically avoided her gaze but smiled, gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I love you.” 

“I… noticed,” said Lalia, eyeing the words scattered throughout the papers. Ezri swatted at her arm. Lalia smiled, though. “I love you, too.” 

Ezri met her eyes and Lalia thought that Tamora was right—every ounce of love was right there. And if that was all they’d had going on in the world, everything would’ve been much simpler.


	22. In Between

Lalia read the drafts and notes of the love letter alone, pages of purple prose and ink both, Ezri’s favorite, cursive Lalia managed to read—another difference in their schooling, maybe. When she was done reading and rereading them, from the first, _My dearest Lalia, It is ridiculous to write a letter to someone you live with, I know—_ to the last, _Love always, Ezri,_ she tucked them safely in a sheet protector in a binder in her office with a smile.

The next many days were hectic in a very normal way—busy, and lots to keep track of, but no big incidents.

Tamora took to training well. They focused on the domestic—housekeeping and culinary skills, but also the secretarial and a bit of personal service. Lalia worked on the paperwork, including certifications, and Ezri’s required reports. Tamora shadowed her for meals like Sadie had, though thanks to some basics they’d smoothed out at TrainingMax, she got a lot better a lot faster, able to handle meals herself sometimes fairly quickly. She also followed her around for a lot of the housekeeping tasks and was hesitantly delegated some to be her own, though she needed instruction for them. Personal service lessons were fairly simple, Ezri a willing subject, the secretarial quick sets of instructions and followup. Lalia covered the desired leash training. With Tamora, it was still awkward but they managed to laugh about it. She seemed to enjoy all of it.

Tamora had a lot of the desired protocol down quickly, the slips minor; she dove into Ezri’s assigned reading, a little slow at it, but reading anytime Lalia found her not doing something else assigned. Ezri talked with Tamora a lot about the reality of the scene and network, healthier BDSM theory, and talked her through a lot of her own issues.

Lalia had quickly received an email from Ezri detailing two assignments. 

The first was a writing assignment. Taking all of the information she’d written down about her TrainingMax experience and creating a long form piece from it. Tamora had been given the same assignment, plus writing out a little more backstory. Ezri was working on a slightly different piece about it. Revisions expected. Lalia wasn’t much of a writer; she wasn’t Ezri; but she’d certainly survived college papers; she could do this.

The second assignment—Ezri wanted to host a high protocol event—a small dinner with play party following with a larger guest list. She had set a date and time, an invite list, protocol list, outline of a menu, and budget. Told Lalia to _Handle the rest—you may come to me with questions, but in general, you are free to handle it yourself._ She would oversee the same people as last time, sans the different trainee.

Well… it was a challenge, but Ezri clearly wanted to see if she could do it, so… deep breath. Yes, she could do that, too. 

She certainly had no issue keeping busy.

Truly, she found herself slipping into the in between majordomo role well. She was used to doing everything in the house by now—so when there was someone else around doing things, managing them was natural.

She questioned what to teach Tamora for the party—a bit of extra protocol review, some things in the kitchen… she made good use of the slots in the schedule that Ezri assigned her.

Meanwhile, the evening inspections were a source of stress for Lalia and Tamora both. Ezri knew it and didn’t make any ominous show of it. She reviewed Lalia’s time logs and training report, let them air any questions, and then checked on a set of things in the house. Usually, she’d dismiss Tamora first and review a few things for the future with Lalia alone.

It was several days before anything came of it; the mistake was mostly Tamora’s, forgetting to rotate the laundry, leaving a load of linens in the washer, a task delegated to her. Ezri simply told her to do so now, and then to wait in Lalia’s office. Her tone was gentle, but unemotionally firm. She left Tamora to it, and had Lalia fetch the cane and wait in her office. She gave her the twelve strokes for the negligence swiftly; it had—truly this time—been her final oversight, and she’d had the systems in place to not miss it. She just hadn’t looked for the error in the laundry room itself.

It wasn’t an emotional process; the few times Ezri’d had to do this before—all before TrainingMax—had proven that such a minor correction didn’t have to be, while it had been something Lalia very consciously had to adjust to.

Ezri’s next words were expected by this point. “You’ll administer the same to Tamora." It had been an oversight on Tamora's part, too, and Ezri wanted to give Lalia a chance to be on the other side of discipline as soon as possible. Tamora waiting in Lalia’s office was one major sign.

Such systems hadn’t been requested for Sadie, but it was a standard of Ezri’s entry training—even a special case with one trainee. She advised mindfulness of the past and said she’d supervise.

But it was still Lalia holding the cane when she found Tamora kneeling and waiting nervously in her office. Being on the other side, she wondered if what she saw of Tamora now was how Ezri viewed her in these situations. And was Ezri this awkward feeling? She didn’t think so but had to wonder.

Ezri, now, was silent and out of the way.

Lalia gave Tamora the instructions—which she’d gotten a walkthrough of before like Lalia had—trying to slip into something like autopilot. Tamora followed the directions, moving clothes, bending over the desk. There were still marks on her from Amoret, and Lalia looked at Ezri uncertainly, but got only a shrug. It wouldn’t modify the brief and measured correction, like it might a slightly longer and more intuitive punishment or even preventative session, and the pain had likely worn off.

Final, “Ready?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

The honorific always stuck out to her. One of the only protocols she was on the other side of. Ezri’d chosen it. A small but significant sign of her rank over the trainees.

She’d practiced with the cane once, at Ezri’s direction, on a pillow. Not rocket science, but a few things Ezri wanted to look for before she swung it at a person. She rested her hand on Tamora gingerly as a guideline—where not to strike.

Took in a breath—first one.

Tamora jumped a little under her touch, a motion not very visible. She counted.

It wasn’t, truly, so bad to be on this end of it, either. Tamora’s submissive stoicism made it easy. And Ezri watching, this time at least, soothed her. Twelve. Tamora fixed her clothes and straightened when allowed, looked at her rather than Ezri. Lalia felt like she should have looked at Ezri, but logically knew why she didn’t.

Ezri made a vague gesture from largely behind Tamora, like _say something_ , and Lalia’s mind went blank, but she offered a hand at Tamora’s back and a soft, “You did well,” that sounded a bit like a question.

Tamora offered a hesitant smile and lowered gaze.

The next day, working on some final party planning, Lalia messaged Paige for advice on briefing for slightly more elaborate protocol, mostly around the meal. 

_I’ll call when my shift ends. It’s a madhouse today_.

Her advice was very common sense, and she pointed out that everyone else involved—sans Tamora—had served at similar dinner events before. All in all, they didn’t talk about it very long. It did feel almost rude to ask Paige questions, who wasn’t going to be involved in the dinner part itself, invited only to the play party, but Ezri had advised it and Paige seemed good natured about it, if her experience comment seemed a little pointed.

Mostly, they caught up in general. Sadie, TrainingMax, Tamora, the experience Lalia was rapidly gaining. Paige expressed something like jealousy about the training involvement; she clearly liked the majordomo role but only got it at events. It was admittedly a little pleasing if awkward to be on Lalia’s end of whatever it was exactly Paige was feeling.

She was also pleased when she checked her email later and found that her housekeeping certification for the network—an online video course and written test—had been approved. Tamora’s, too.

She was less pleased when she discovered the voicemail from her mom left on her phone. Her parents—one or the other—called rarely, and usually to berate her about failing to call them or her sister—who never called anyone, it seemed—for some holiday or occasion. A glance at the calendar—yes, her father’s birthday, a few days prior. A passing thought on that day when she’d noticed the date.

She didn’t call because they found reason to be mad at her even when she did. It was never pleasant. She hadn’t called since her sophomore year of college; she had answered via text after that, and there’d been nothing since she graduated, not even note of that event. The last visit had been Christmas of freshman year.

She steeled herself and listened to the voicemail. Yes, the usual. Her chest felt tight. She didn’t answer.

At dinner, Ezri noted, “You're quiet tonight, sweetheart. And you’ve barely eaten. Something wrong?” A concerned stroke of her hair.

Her stomach was churning and she still felt an urge towards tears. “Just tired, ma’am,” she said, not looking at her.

Ezri looked unconvinced, but dropped it. Tamora certainly didn’t press.

Later, Lalia found Ezri in her office and knelt next to her; Ezri stroked her back and said, “You feel tense.” 

“Sorry,” she said, unsure of how else to respond.

Ezri laughed a little, tilted her head up, caressed her cheek. “What’s wrong, sweetheart, hmm?” 

“It’s stupid.” 

“Not if it’s upsetting you this much, I think. Tell me anyway.” 

"Voicemail from my mom. The usual.” 

Ezri knew what that was. “Did you answer?” 

Lalia shook her head.

“Are you going to?” 

“I should.” Guilty shrug.

“Do you want to?” 

“No,” she admitted, eyes flitting to the floor again. “I don’t.” She thought. “I always think about not answering and stall and then lose my nerve and answer.” 

“Well, what keeps you answering?” 

“Guilt.” She laughed.

“Nothing else?” 

“Not really. Not for a long time.” 

Ezri considered. “Well, I’ll tell you what. You’re not allowed to answer at least until the consideration contract is up. We can talk after that.” About a week. “Then, you can decide what you want to do. Answer. Not answer this time. Not answer again.” 

Lalia nodded slowly. She hadn’t come for instruction on this, but it was calming to just think—it was out of her hands. The truth was, she didn’t want to answer. Not now, probably not ever. She hadn’t wanted to answer in a long time. But she wasn’t brave enough for that on her own. Her heart pounded at the thought.

“Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Realized she hadn’t answered.

“Good girl.” Ezri’s fingers traced her neck and probably felt her racing pulse. “You know,” said Ezri, “there’s something else I want you to think about.” 

Lalia looked up at her.

“Have you ever considered medication? For the anxiety?” 

Lalia bit her lip. “Sometimes. Not recently. And before, I—there were always insurance issues. The money. All that.” 

Ezri nodded. “Well, that wouldn’t be an obstacle now,” she reminded her. “I’m not recommending anything extreme—nothing zombifying. Just… something to take the edge off. If you wanted. It’s not something I’ll dictate for you unless you were much worse off than you are now. But, think about it. You might get benefit from it. You have my permission to do whatever you need to make an appointment if you want. Normally, I’d endorse people starting with therapy—but I know there’s… a lot you couldn’t discuss with the most liberal of therapists.” 

Lalia nodded, thinking. Part of her didn’t like the idea of being someone who was _on meds._ A status of its own. But if Ezri thought it was okay…

She scheduled an appointment the next day—but it would be a few days out. New patient, mild condition, explained the receptionist on the phone. A miracle by her usual standards, nothing unusual by Ezri’s.

Ezri had made an important call of her own—to Branwen. Lalia hadn’t heard what had come of Branwen going to that TrainingMax gathering. Apparently, not much, though Branwen was eager to hear Ezri’s story and was considering finding an in as an occasional once off trainer with TrainingMax to see what else she could find out. What would get them driven from all corners of the network, the scene altogether. Her and Ezri promised to stay in touch about it.

That evening after dinner and cleanup, Lalia went to Ezri’s office as requested. But it wasn’t about anything that big picture.

“You know I’ve been doing some sexual training with Tamora,” Ezri opened with.

And yes, she did. It certainly hadn’t managed to slip her mind, though she hadn’t been involved in it and Tamora looked away whenever it was even mentioned and Ezri had not made much comment about it. A very basic note of it happening when it did—twice now, and probably done, not rocket science—for Lalia’s reports, and something in her expression told Lalia she was far from dissatisfied with Tamora’s performance. Basic techniques of giving pleasure was the instructional aim. Lalia was extremely curious, and not as jealous as she thought she might be, and wasn’t sure if she was supposed to ask any more questions. She hadn’t had a very high amount of sex with Ezri in the last days perhaps because of Ezri’s interactions with Tamora, but frankly, with everything going on, Lalia didn’t terribly mind.

Of course, there would be different techniques Tamora could be taught on Lalia.

So, that was tonight’s activity.

Lalia felt very flustered and blushy herself as they found Tamora and settled in the guest bedroom she’d been using. 

Ezri looked at Lalia. “Undress. Completely.” She did, hands trembling a little with general anticipation more than nervousness. Tamora was a little giggly, like she had been during the leash training. “Lie on the bed, on your back.” She did.

“You,” said Ezri to Tamora, “are going to practice as we discussed.” She looked back at Lalia. “You may come freely and give feedback as you see fit.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” she got out.

Ezri nodded at Tamora, who crawled onto the bed between Lalia’s legs and started with slow caresses, an almost ticklish touch at her thighs, her breasts. Her lips at Lalia’s neck and shoulder, lower, taking a nipple into her mouth and sucking gently, swirling and flicking her tongue around it. Lalia gave a shaky sigh, eyes fluttering shut. The sensation of pleasure seemed to have a satellite much lower. 

Ezri advised, “Use your hands,” and Tamora resumed stroking her while she switched sides, her hands along Lalia’s sides and hips, a firmer but unrestricting touch of her palms, petting her thigh one handed as she shifted down, a sparse trail of kisses on her abdomen, skipping over where Lalia was really starting to want her attention and pressing a few at her thighs. Lalia couldn’t help the slight tilt up of her hips, wanting. Whatever discussion she’d missed, Tamora already did a few things well. She felt no particular attraction to her, but the physical sensations were very nice. She didn’t have many constructive things to say. Tamora had been quiet, too. Ezri noticed.

“Words, Tamora?” she asked. She sounded amused—there had to be some enjoyment in watching as there had been in her own lessons. Lalia’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, catching the smirk.

Tamora’s eyes flicked up to hers. “May I please you, miss?” Something earnest about that little smile. 

“You may,” she got out.

Tamora gave a few slow, flat tongued licks at the outer edges between her legs, teasing. Lalia whimpered. Closer to the center, on each side. Finally, right where she wanted it. Almost. From her entrance up towards her clit, but not quite there. Again. She squirmed. She almost asked for more, but suspected learning to tease and build anticipation was part of the lesson and didn’t want to intervene.

Tamora gave her what she wanted soon enough. A gentle sucking sensation around the area of her clit, tongue tracing slow patterns in the center. That was it. She moaned, trying to press into the touch. Faster. Her hand found Tamora’s hair unbidden, just a slight press. Tamora made a small sound of maybe surprise and she felt the vibrations. 

Tamora focused her attentions lower, near her entrance, flicks of her tongue teasing out wetness. Moved back, shifted to replace her attention there with her fingers. Her other hand still traced Lalia’s thigh, almost under it. Slowly slipped one finger inside her—a nice bit of friction, a contrast of sensation. 

“Try two,” Ezri advised.

Tamora did. That was better. Feeling much more full and needy. Cried out. Tamora definitely had gotten certain instructions, alternating stroking her g-spot and slipping in and out of her, tongue still focused on her clit, everything faster and faster.

Lalia panted and writhed under the attentions. Felt very aware of Ezri watching and Tamora’s eagerness to show her what she could do. The sensation building and building and arousal peaking. Thrusting a little to meet Tamora’s motions. Crying out louder.

“May I make you come, miss?” Tamora asked very softly, slightly muffled with only a momentary pause.

“Yes,” she gasped. “ _Yes_ , oh—” She came. Waves and waves of pleasure, moaning and whimpering. Tamora’s motions slowing, just teasing out the last aftershocks, and then ceasing, drawing away from her. Sucked Lalia’s fluids off her fingers. Lalia, barely able to keep her eyes open to see it, or the gesture Ezri had used to remind her of it, had the very distinct thought, _If I were a Top, that’d probably be really hot._ Ezri had commented on liking the way her tongue flicked around her lips after oral.

“Feedback, Lalia?” Ezri asked with a touch of sarcasm.

“I—that was—very good,” she panted. Tamora giggled innocently as if she had not been doing very different things with her mouth a moment earlier. Surely there was a type for that. Maybe Lalia was a bit of that, herself.

After cleanup and dressing, she ended up alone with Tamora for a minute. “The reports were modest,” she said before she thought about it too hard.

There was the giggle again. “I owed you, anyway.” An expression that might have been a smirk on someone else. 

She had no further feedback later; Ezri seemed satisfied. Lalia turned in the first draft of the writing assignment before bed and the evening inspection went without incident. Ezri reported that she had confirmed the fates of Nathan and Olivia—sold to Owners who were definitely not worst case scenarios. But no one had word on Riley.

That preyed on the back of her mind. She went to the psychiatrist appointment and it was quite short, a lot of paperwork, and they started her on a low dose of a common SSRI she went to get at the pharmacy. The psychiatrist said they’d check in a month later; it might take a while to see effects. While she waited for them to fill the prescription at the pharmacy, she was discreetly checking FetLife on her phone as if it would hold answers on Riley’s fate, but there was nothing. Ezri’s calls to Branwen had held no news. Paige had some vague statuses that seemed unhappy, and Lalia was reminded of her jealous tone. But nothing else caught her eye.

Well, maybe there would be news from a guest at the upcoming party. And even if not, she had plenty of work left to do on that front, anyway.


	23. Dungeons and Dinners

Lalia looked over the invite list one more time before she met with the others who would be serving the party, and reflected that the _going into the spy industry_ comment might not have been so wrong.

Not so much just spying at this point as some kind of social game. For the dinner, the attendees included Travis—single now, and Ezri was eyeing the idea of matching him with Tamora; _we’ll have our foot in the door to sell him someone else,_ she’d said before, predicting the ending of his relationship with Sadie. Not to mention Branwen, trying to spy on TrainingMax, herself. Jen and Dennis were both well aware of the TrainingMax plots, and Dennis was technically seeing to some culinary certifications that evening. Charlie was aware, too, and Ezri was hoping to talk to him about what was up with Paige. He and Dennis had succeeded in retrieving Tamora’s belongings from her old house, returned to her.

Lalia rubbed at her eyes as she went over her notes in the morning. While she hadn’t noticed many immediately obvious effects, the new medication seemed to be making her sleepy in the mornings, while it also made her sleep better at night, which she hadn’t realized had been so lacking, since she seemed to get enough hours of it. Looking back, she realized she rarely dreamt—that nightmare Ezri had woken her from the exception that proved the rule—meaning she hadn’t been hitting REM much. She dreamt now. It was a worthwhile trade off so far, extra energy—and therefore more stable mood—most of the day, for a bit of morning bleariness she was likely to adjust to. Ezri agreed.

But, low energy and distractible, trying to settle back in from a check in outside with the landscaper, she checked her devices and mostly FetLife again. Nothing of intrigue. Jen had uploaded a picture from a scene the night before, or more accurately, after; Clara, bruised, bleeding, and fast asleep on the floor with a sleepy smile, leashed to a d-ring mounted on the wall, the collar the only item of clothing, unless you could count the slight covering provided by her long hair. Lalia caught the network symbol and Jen’s initials amongst the cutting marks. Caption, _sometimes you gotta wear your slave out before all her energy gets stolen at a party._ Tagged Ezri, and Clara. The comments:

 _Sometimes ya gotta,_ from Clara, and some very general ones, with at least two that sounded somewhat concerned about the severity of the marks. One mentioned the hair and a joking FetLife fetish for it. Clicking a few times, the concerned comments didn’t seem terribly uncommon on any of those sorts of Jen’s pictures. Lalia commented on the prior night’s picture with, _We’ll try to not steal all her energy,_ and a smiley face, then added the fetish for Clara’s hair to her profile list.

A minute after she did, about to close the tab, an update came up. Clara had added _they’re like cerulean_ as a fetish, and moments after she did, Jen did, too. Lalia laughed aloud and also added it. Ezri had called Clara a liar for claiming she'd said that shortly after meeting Lalia, but something told her it hadn’t been a lie. The last thing she saw before finally closing the tab was Ezri adding it, too.

One last party review with Ezri before the meeting. And going over revision notes on the TrainingMax writing.

“How has your headspace been lately?” Ezri asked her when they were done. “As you’ve been working with Tamora and prepping for the party?”

The question took her by surprise. “Good?” she tried, honestly, but curious about the reasoning.

“Good,” said Ezri. “I just wanted to see… I know it’s a lot of decision making and authority. If it was weighing on you at all.”

“No,” said Lalia, thinking. “I mean… it’s a little weird. All of it. Still. But it’s… a service, in the end. I don’t feel…” Words weren’t coming.

“You don’t feel like the leash is too long?”

“Right. I get… there’s a balance, in all the other stuff.” Gestured vaguely at her current kneeling position.

As much as she had adjusted to being on the submissive side of things, as much as things became background items, not something she focused on, it was all still there. It really was like a language, including the little changes to it. _You may_ was their _sure,_ _yes, ma’am_ their _yeah, may I_ their _do you mind if I_. _Bed_ meant _blanket on the floor_ ; _uniform_ replaced _clothes_. The curtsies were like a goodbye kiss, kneeling on the floor as normal as sitting on the furniture. _Only if it pleases you_ felt as strong as _I’d really rather not._

Ezri nodded. “How is Tamora doing with it? I’ve wondered… it’s an uncommon setup, even in network, to have those layers. If there was anything she said to you.”

Lalia thought. It wasn’t like she didn’t talk to Tamora—even though she liked her, especially as she came out of her shell a little, the introvert in her was getting tired, they talked so much. Yet…. “I don’t know, exactly,” she said. “I mean, she’s talked about—even if I had no official in between role—it would still be… a huge difference, between me and her. That… permanent and temporary. Any dynamic from getting her out of TrainingMax aside.”

“True,” said Ezri. “When I thought about… running entry training and having someone of my own—before I solidified the majordomo idea—I knew it would still be… its own dynamic.”

“I think it’s been… good for her to have someone on both sides of the slash around to talk to,” said Lalia. “I get—” She paused, knowing the idea might be a delicate one with Ezri and trying to phrase properly. “I get why TrainingMax wanted to try the majordomo thing. It’s just… a different dynamic. You hear different things. That can… be useful. And I think—well, Tamora said—it’s also kind of like having a potential example in front of you of how an Ownership dynamic works. And for her, especially, a healthy one.” Dropping her gaze a little. “Or at least consideration.” Realized she’d used the word _permanent_ earlier and wasn’t sure if it was getting heavy handed, or if it was worse to point it out.

“I agree; it’s good for her—any trainees—both as an example and active resource,” said Ezri. “And even with just Sadie or Tamora, I can see the differences—good differences—of having you around versus when I was doing things by myself. I think I do the parts I like better when the parts I don’t like are adequately handled by someone else. And for you—well, I don’t think you’ve had problems feeling idle.”

Lalia laughed a little. “Definitely not.”

The party meeting was short and went smoothly. Bailey had to go almost as soon as they were done for work, confirming only that they’d covered the _official agenda_ , but Asher and Clara lingered. They laughed about the morning’s FetLife activity, which Asher had seen since. Clara, trying to fluster Lalia, said, “Maybe we’ll get to have an after party again,” and Asher’s snort told Lalia he’d heard some version of the story. Lalia blushed. 

For mostly Tamora’s benefit, Clara theatrically reenacted her own version of Lalia’s leaving TrainingMax, playing nearly every role but recruiting Asher as all but a prop to play Garrett and then Amoret in the ER, sending him out of the room so he could walk back in, staging punching him several times.

Tamora was barely containing her laughter enough to be able to continue watching, leaning on Lalia’s shoulder; Lalia had lost control of hers along with the meeting altogether. “It’s really not theatric by much,” she got out. “It was so crazy. God.”

“Oh, but I forgot the best part,” said Clara, as Asher recovered from where he’d flung himself onto the floor near the wall, joining in the dramatics despite having not been present. (“I’m giving my interpretation,” he’d said.) 

“Ezri lost her fucking mind,” said Clara. She flung herself onto Lalia’s lap as Tamora barely got out of the way, gripping her face, her voice rising a number of octaves and picking up an accent. “Lalia, my poor darling girl, you must be so traumatized! Did you die? Did they have to revive you? You must have been so terrified and helpless without me! I might have never seen you again!” She feigned fainting onto the couch.

Lalia, wiping away tears and shaking from laughing, finally managed, “Little too British but you might be on to something.” And, because she should, “I mean, it was… a lot.”

The front door slammed open and closed. Tamora jumped out of her skin, giggles abruptly halting.

Shouting in the entry. “—Yeah, I know tier one support is fucking useless. I didn’t say ask them—well—listen, do you want a goddamn philosophy experiment or do you want code that fucking works? Whatever—I’ll be back online within the hour. Make up your damn mind.”

Jen walked into the living room a moment later and, evidently off the phone, took in the scene—Asher, leaning on the coffee table on the floor, leather vest askew, Clara lying on top of Lalia in what had to be a uncomfortable position, the three still stifling laughter, Tamora close by. “Hi!” she said brightly to the last, “you must be Tamora.”

Caught off guard, Tamora said, “That’s me.”

“It’s nice to meet finally you, after all the fuss. I’m Jen.” She gestured at Clara. “I own that one.”

Tamora, unnecessarily, stood to shake her outstretched hand, displacing Clara, who shifted upright and nearly kicked Lalia in the process. “I, uh, heard.” She giggled again. "It’s… nice to meet you, too, ma’am?”

Jen waved her off. “Don’t. Jen is fine. I’m not that old.”

“Ezri’s a year older than you,” Clara offered from the couch.

“And I am neither Ezri nor forty-one.”

“Do I have to start calling you ma’am when you’re forty-one?” Clara asked, walking over and hugging her tightly from the side.

“I will beat you if you try.” Jen kissed the bridge of her nose.

A phone beeped. Asher looked at it. “Well, that’s my cue,” he said, hopping up. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

They called various farewells after him, including Ezri, who ran into him in the entry, finding her way into the living room. “Well, I heard you come in,” she said to Jen, then looked around. “Did Bailey slip out?”

“He did,” Tamora said.

When Ezri sat on the couch, Lalia moved and knelt next to her; Tamora did the same nearby; Jen and Clara took the other couch, which Lalia caught Tamora’s double take at. She remembered doing that herself, the first time. But whatever the differences, she’d developed a lot of respect for—if not that many fewer questions about—their dynamic since. Jen happily permitted the banter but it was obvious Clara had nothing but the highest respect for her at the end of the day.

“So, how was the party planning?” Ezri asked.

“I think it went well,” said Lalia, and, helplessly giggling again, “We even got story time in.”

Tamora lost control of the giggles, too.

“I definitely heard parts of that,” said Ezri, sounding amused.

“Did you find my rendition unfair?” Clara asked her.

“I just found it a shame you left out all the theatrics before we left for the hospital.”

“Oh, you’re right,” sighed Clara, shifting and laying her head in Jen’s lap. “But that would’ve been hard to reenact.”

“I’d help,” said Jen, nudging her, but Clara only grinned up at her.

“What'd I miss?” asked Lalia, who hadn’t heard much of that part except that there had been arguing.

Clara gestured vaguely between Jen and Ezri. “Oh, they were just having one of their lovers' spats.”

Lalia opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. Usually she’d take the phrase as a joke, but it seemed like sometimes in her new social groups it was best to take things literally, such as _set on fire._ She knew Ezri and Clara’s history, and Ezri had phrased their present relationship as _friends who never learned how to be friends_ , a bit of leftover extra closeness, a power imbalance that had never evened out, finding the occasion to play a few times since. She had never bothered to question if more than what she saw had ever happened between Jen and Ezri, who seemed to share that extra closeness but not much else.

Ezri caught the expression. “To be abundantly clear, I have _not_ had sex with Jen.”

“We got close!” Jen said cheerfully.

“We have _very_ different definitions of ‘close.’”

“Fine. We made out.”

“Barely.”

“Three times.”

“Not doing it again.” Ezri sighed, but laughed. “Failed to get a reaction out of that one.” Gestured at Clara. “Alcohol was involved.”

“I thought you should go for it,” Clara offered. Jen smacked her arm. “Besides, there were other… things.”

“Clara, if you try to imply I’ve slept with your wife one more time...”

“Ooh. Then…?” Clara asked, turning over, propping her chin on her hands, grinning at her. “Do tell.”

“Brat,” said Ezri. “I taught you better.”

“I also tried,” said Jen, smacking her again, thigh this time.

Clara giggled. “You did _sleep_ together. In the hotel.”

“There was only one bed,” said Ezri dismissively. “Since you were so busy stealing my slave.”

“Really could’ve been farther apart.”

“It was cold,” said Jen.

“Yes,” Ezri agreed enthusiastically, “it was cold.”

Lalia laughed, not surprised by terribly much at this point, though amused that Jen eagerly offered that they’d made out but denied a bit of cuddling. Tamora stifled another giggle.

“Bit of a cliche, don’t you think?” asked Clara.

It was a fun afternoon, and the next day brought the chaos of final preparations for the party. A lot of food prep. And cleaning up after it. Tamora helped Lalia with that in the early part of the day before the others arrived again for miscellaneous final setup. Tamora was useful but nervous for her first event, and knowing her and Travis were supposed to be keeping an eye on each other. Lalia was nervous about the dinner part mostly, and the final parts of the culinary certifications for her and Tamora. The play party part by now felt amply doable.

But she was frazzled, and when Ezri pulled her out of the preparations to talk, a few last thoughts, she kept thinking, _Yes, I know that. No,_ _I’m not stupid._ _Yes, I did that. No, I don’t need help. Yes, that’s taken care of._

Ezri saw the mood and offered the idea of the preventative discipline, and Lalia said, “There isn’t time.” It was probably a good idea but she also didn’t want to pull her mind out of the stress because a lot of the thoughts were still productive if overblown.

“Be ready for it at four,” Ezri said simply, with a challenging look. No longer an offer.

Lalia lowered her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl.”

Of course, there _was_ time—if there wasn’t, Ezri wouldn’t have pressed. It was simply stress that made Lalia feel like there wasn’t. And it was quick—not to the point of catharsis. Just to the point of that mental quiet.

The others arrived at four-thirty. Guests would arrive at five-thirty and mingle and dinner would be served at six.

It was a miracle that everything went as well as it did. It was chaos behind the scenes but not due to problems, per se, and none of the guests seemed to notice. The kitchen would be closed off for the first part of the play party—starting at eight—as final cleanup happened, left to Tamora and Bailey.

Clara took the dungeon this time and Asher the living room. Lalia, the front door until the doors closed for the night. Around that time, the kitchen was ready to go. She let Tamora take the first and third shift at the bar—she’d take one herself in the middle for certification purposes. Bailey handled further cleanup as it came in. Lalia circulated.

She finally got to meet Branwen’s slave, if you could call it meeting—friendly nods as Branwen introduced the two who were all but bound to silence. Andre knelt beside Branwen and Lalia could only stay so long. She noticed as she left the dungeon with a few drink orders that Charlie and Ezri were talking on a couch near a caning scene, neither of his slaves in sight.

She traded with Tamora at the bar after that round of orders, telling her to take Clara’s place in the dungeon and let Clara do the circulating—moving orders from the kitchen up to the dungeon and living room. A few of the smokers had gathered in the backyard, but they were close enough to the kitchen that they tended to walk over. Tamora would be too easily overwhelmed by moving about that much.

At the bar, she noticed Dennis watching her and that Travis, who had lingered in the kitchen all night, vanished when Tamora was no longer the one there. Well, good, probably. She wondered if Ezri’s talk was going as well. She fulfilled drink orders as a few people wandered up and mostly as Clara brought them to her. With the latest set of orders, Clara murmured, “Tamora wants to know if she can play with Travis. He and Ezri approved.”

“Ah…” _Think. Who can do what?_ “Yeah. I’ll stay here. Tell Asher to take the dungeon.” The living room was nearly empty when she’d looked last, and usually was.

The party wound down. Clara brought the news that, “Tamora and Travis seem to be having a good time,” with a shrug, but fewer and fewer drink orders and more and more empty glasses to Bailey, who sent out fewer and fewer snack trays.

Final cleaning, then.

Little lingering. It was late. Her and Ezri and Tamora remained. She talked to Tamora a bit before bed. “It was nice,” she said of the play with Travis. “We did an electric scene. It was fun. I hadn’t done it before. It tickles. Like, it kind of hurts—but not a lot? It’s mostly just… weird. Jolty. But we had fun, like, I don’t know, figuring that out, I guess. I mean, he knew what he was doing. But… he’s into reactions, he said. We didn’t talk much otherwise. Y’know, rules and all. But he seems nice.”

“Good,” said Lalia. She was sure Ezri would set up more time for the two to talk. And do whatever else they liked.

And she did—well, she told Lalia to, actually, during their own final check in. She also gave her the unofficial news that Dennis had approved the last things they needed for her and Tamora’s network culinary certificates. The more vanilla certifications were already getting handled. She sighed in relief a little, although it had been admittedly expected. Ezri offered praise for the party and a reminder to do a debrief—and walk Tamora through that. She said all of the right things but something seemed wrong. She seemed tense, almost angry, but trying to contain it.

“Something wrong, ma’am?” Lalia asked uncertainly.

Ezri hesitated.

“How was… your talk with Charlie?” Trying to pin down what it could be.

Ezri sighed. “Paige is unhappy.”

Well, that had been obvious.

“She wants out and he's thinking he'll let her go.”

Well, Charlie didn’t seem the type to hold her hostage, and without any legal enforceability in their contract, there was little else he could do.

“Sell her to someone else? Or let her go altogether? Does she want out of the network?”

“It doesn’t seem like she wants out of the network. But he isn’t going to sell her. They’ve been together a long time. She wasn’t sold to him to begin with. He wants her options to not be muddled by sale. It sounds like she has some prospects she doesn’t want to talk about yet. I guess she hasn’t really had issues with Naomi and they might be leaving that door open.”

“Why does she want to leave?” Lalia asked.

“That… was unclear. Took him by surprise, too. I guess lately she seems generally unsatisfied—not just him, but everything else.”

“She complained about work,” Lalia noted, not that that was a definite indicator of much.

“Could be more about herself than him,” Ezri shrugged. “I’d be sad to see that end. Especially since it’s so—it all seems so mild. But, that's up to them.” She said it like it closed the topic, then hesitated as if she were going to say more, but was unsure. Lalia had the feeling that while Ezri found that news saddening, that wasn’t what was weighing on her mood the heaviest.

Lalia looked up at her.

“Frankly, I have a bigger concern,” admitted Ezri.

“… Yes, ma’am?” Lalia prompted finally, when it had been quiet for a little too long.

“I also talked to Branwen. She got some information out of Garrett making small talk.”

“Oh?”

Ezri sighed, shook her head. “Riley. They put up too much of a fight. They weren’t going to be sellable, not to anyone reasonable. And TrainingMax didn’t want to let them go running around telling people about what they did trying to get them to stop fighting. Framed it like it was reasonable to Branwen, of course, but…”

“So, what…?”

“And TrainingMax had someone they owed a favor. Like a deeply discounted slave.”

“Oh, God—” she said as she realized it.

“So, they sold Riley to Tamora’s old Master.”


	24. Interfering

Ezri called off breakfast the next morning in the name of some planning and phone calls, leaving Lalia and Tamora to their own devices. They sat at the island eating leftover cookies Lalia had made for the party, still lingering when Ezri came in. “Okay,” she said; “this is what’s going to happen.”

Half an hour later found them in Clara’s room at her and Jen’s place while Ezri, Jen, and Dennis argued downstairs. Currently, if the scraps of raised voices they could overhear were a good indicator, they were addressing the likelihood or lack thereof of cops getting involved if the group simply showed up and demanded Riley be released. Dennis, at least, had some understandable reservations.

“Who knew getting human trafficked involved so much rescuing people from human trafficking?” asked Clara, lying on an ottoman covered in throw blankets, feet swinging over the edge, staring at the ceiling. “I just wanted to like, be a sex slave in peace, or whatever.”

“I think Ms. Ezri tried to warn me,” Lalia said lightly. Ezri’s disapproval of some network dealings had been evident since the beginning, if not the getting involved part, which seemed relatively new as knowledge and circumstances appeared.

“—Okay, but has anyone tried getting a hold of Riley and asking what they think?” Jen was asking downstairs, and then all three were shouting again.

Clara laughed and said, “I think we might be in for a long day, kids,” and sat up, earning a disgruntled _mrrp_ from the fluffy white cat who had nestled itself between her and the wall. Dr. Fluffypants Fuzztail. The white fur clung to Clara’s black cardigan. Fall had arrived abruptly, and Lalia was chilly in her uniform skirt and button down and knee socks.

“I bet,” said Tamora, and no one pressed her for further predictions. She sat in a chair with a sketchbook propped on her knee, and when she wasn’t drawing, she was texting Travis. “What song is this?” She made a vague gesture at the air as if the sound waves were visible.

“I’ll link it,” said Clara, reaching for her phone.

Lalia’s phone buzzed with a new group chat— _Not Allowed in Main Chat Crew._ Her, Clara, Tamora. The link mentioned.

 _Might I propose “squad”?_ Tamora.

Clara sent a question mark.

 _It’s what the kids say these days._ Lalia. Though _OT4_ seemed rather modern.

Clara shrugged, and, sitting up now, watched Tamora draw again with interest and said, “How the fuck? I laid down for like three minutes.”

" _Lay_ ," Lalia mumbled helplessly.

Tamora laughed. “I thought I heard you draw?”

“Oh, I doodle now and then to keep my hands busy, but not like this.”

Lalia stretched a little from where she’d settled on the floor, simply for lack of furniture, trying to see what was discussed. Tamora held it up for her. “Yeah,” said Lalia, “that’s definitely not what was there three minutes ago.”

Working with a small selection of pastels, the page gained color and shape fast. Tamora showed Clara how she’d done some of what she did. Lalia listened to the music Clara was playing, watched the setup that played it—tilted her head a little at the idea that Clara might be old enough to be into vinyl unironically. Doing the math… it would still be a nostalgia thing. Clara’d mentioned being unable to have much music on in the past, with her sister Jaz around all the time and Jaz’s sensory issues.

“Yeah, I won’t pretend this is my specialty,” said Clara to Tamora’s art lesson, handing back the pastel she’d let her try. She hopped up and abruptly pulled Lalia up from the floor, twirled her around. “I have other specialties.” Guided her to do the same. Lalia laughed.

She felt less giggly standing in front of the house later, shivering in the cold air and reviewing the plan one more time. Dennis took his car and the rest of them took Ezri’s—a bit of a tight fit, but doable. Dennis’ job had been assigned as _grab Riley and get out of there_ ; the others would follow.

Tamora had been included in the rescue team for any unique knowledge she might have. Lalia’s job was to grab Tamora and run if things went south. Both were likely to gain some trust for the group from Riley. Asher had been left at home for safety. Charlie and co were too preoccupied. Dennis was there to look imposing. Jen was there if they needed to do more than _look_ imposing. Clara joked she was on the list because she was Ezri’s security blanket. That didn’t strike Lalia as entirely untrue, though she was also a decent backup in a physical confrontation.

Ezri and Jen pointedly talked about nothing in particular in the front seat. Ezri opened a window as they passed the freeway entrance and Lalia hugged her arms tighter around herself as if it would help.

Looking eager for a conversation topic as she and Ezri failed to maintain the last one, Jen said, “Ezri, would you please let your slave wear clothes? It’s barely sixty outside.” In an awkward set of motions, maneuvering around a seatbelt, she shoved the jacket she’d been wearing to Lalia in the back seat, nearly hitting Ezri, driving, in the face with it in the process.

“Very well,” said Ezri, amused. “Since you went through all the fuss.”

Lalia murmured a thanks and managed to put it on. The black leather was a sharp enough contrast to her uniform that Clara smirked looking at her.

They pulled up in front of the house in question as Dennis was parking nearby. “Right place?” Ezri asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tamora’s voice was faint, but she got out of the car as quickly as anyone else.

They and Dennis approached the door. Ezri rang the bell.

It opened, in a minute.

“Oh, not this shit again,” said the man who answered—Eric, if he was who they were looking for—rubbing at his neck, eyes falling on Dennis first, who had already been by the house once, collecting things for Tamora. Dennis pushed past him into the house and he didn’t move out of his way but didn’t stop him. Then he looked at the rest of the group in confusion. His eyes fell on Tamora. “What're you doin' here?”

Ezri answered. “We’ve come for Riley.”

Eric barked a laugh. “Fuck, you want ‘er? Take ‘er. Nothin' but problems. I was gonna ask for a return and refund as it was. Still will.”

Lalia noted the misgendering but perhaps this type of disdain for Riley would help them get out of the situation.

“So who the fuck are you?” he asked. He nodded at Tamora. “And how the fuck did you end up with her? Are you a slave confiscator or somethin’? Really haven’t found one worth the hassle.”

“Not important,” said Ezri. Tamora’s quivering hand brushed Lalia’s; she took it.

Dennis returned with Riley right behind him, carrying a duffel bag and looking confused but all right—a few marks jumped out at a quick scan on their pale skin, their teal undercut looking especially faded; they might have lost some weight, but they did have some to lose.

“Fuck,” said Eric as they brushed out. “Okay. Look, don’t want no trouble or anything. But y’all gotta stop comin’ ‘round here.”

Car doors shutting; Dennis pulling away. Mission accomplished.

“I see no reason we’ll be bothering you again,” said Ezri. “You’re not welcome in any decent corner of the scene in this town, let alone the network. I don’t think you’ll give us problems.”

“Doesn’t seem like a friendly group to start with,” he said. “Have fun with them,” he said to Tamora, with no well wishes in his voice. “I hope you get the pretty little fantasy you wanted.”

“I hope you get the help you need, sir.”

Lalia did not have time to appreciate the words or Tamora’s sudden bravery before Eric lunged for her; she had already turned on her heels and started off with Tamora still in her grasp as Ezri said, “ _Go,_ ” and Jen had found her way between Eric and anyone else. They reached the curb, the edge of the next lawn. Just get a few houses down, she thought, well out of the way. She heard Jen shout a similar order and Clara appeared behind them, caught up as they stopped three houses down.

“Well, that went over well,” said Clara, but gave Tamora’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Lalia tried to catch her breath as she dropped Tamora's hand.

Someone cried out in pain; Lalia had barely processed it before Clara was bolting back to the house. Jen. _Oh, God._ “Clara, no!” Lalia called after her, and found herself following. There was nothing good that could come of getting back into this situation and they had been ordered to get out of it. “Don’t—” She stopped one house early when she realized she was not going to get a hold of Clara, panting; Tamora appeared behind her.

Clara had reached the front path at least when the door slammed and Jen and Ezri emerged, and they all piled into the car. Lalia ended up in the front with Ezri, Jen next to Clara in the back; she noted why as Ezri quickly pulled out of the driveway, though they were unpursued—a bad slash on her arm and Clara reaching for the first aid kit on the floor.

“Everyone all right?” Ezri asked as they turned out of the neighborhood.

Agreement; Jen hissed as Clara applied antiseptic but nodded. Nothing a first aid kit couldn’t handle. Lalia vaguely wanted her inhaler but wasn’t troubled enough to reach for it in case it raised any anxious questions. Her heart pounded. “Call Dennis,” Ezri said; “you can put him on speaker.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lalia did, connecting the phone to the car.

“All well,” said Dennis in lieu of greeting; “letting ourselves into your place in minute. You?”

“We’ll be there in a few.”

They hung up. Not sure what else to do, Lalia shifted and, without hitting the driving Ezri in the face, returned Jen’s jacket to her via Clara. She felt a pang of guilt; not wearing the heavy, sleeved item had probably allowed Jen to get injured much more easily, but there was really no blame to be placed on her. Perhaps she should’ve done a better job of pretending to not be bothered by the cold.

But, any anger on Jen’s part right now was clearly directed at Clara, seeing to the injury with a gentle touch but avoiding her gaze. “I told you to run,” Jen said, voice icier than the air chilling Lalia again.

“You were hurt,” Clara said without much conviction, eyes still low.

Tamora seemed to be trying to press herself against the opposite car door.

They arrived home. Ezri, Lalia, and Tamora filled in for Riley what Dennis knew only second hand. Riley filled in a more detailed version of their story that had largely already been put together.

It was a strange conversation. Dennis left when the basics had been covered. Lalia fetched drinks. Clara was avoiding speaking, seeming rather absent, eyes fixated on a point on the table and not moving. Riley stated quickly that they wanted to leave the network and Ezri was gently trying to suggest they sleep on it. Tamora was quick to reassure them that the rest of the network was different, leaving to check on a load of laundry as assigned.

“Yeah, we’re not all evil,” said Jen to Riley. She seemed to be blithely avoiding confronting Clara until they were alone. “Even if some of us try to freeze our slaves to death. I thought this one was gonna get pneumonia. Needed to borrow a jacket before we even passed the freeway.” She gestured at Lalia.

Lalia frowned, remembering passing the freeway before the jacket lending, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Ezri abruptly said, “Well, nothing like a bit of temperature play on the road.” Her hand settled on Lalia’s thigh under the table, a silent _later_ that Lalia could interpret but not understand. Ezri seemed to be trying to exchange a look with Jen, who wasn’t letting her.

The conversation shifted to if Riley was willing to write up their experiences as Tamora returned. “I guess,” they said with a shrug. “If it’ll help.” They hadn’t been very loquacious thus far.

“You know, I meant to show you the new patio lights,” Ezri said to Jen.

“That’s right,” said Jen, hopping up. She dug for something in her bag but followed Ezri to the patio. Lalia had the feeling it had more to do with seeing if Riley was any more talkative with anyone on the left side of the slash out of the room than with the string lights her and Tamora had recently hung.

It did seem to open up a few topics; as Riley and Tamora traded anecdotes, Lalia felt intensely grateful for Ezri and how safe and loved she made her feel even at the most unlikely of moments.

“I dunno,” said Riley at one point. “Like, look, I get that it’s not all bad—I just dunno… if all this is for me. Not to be, like, that—but—I’m a bit more… fluffy handcuffs and floggers and TNG than… this. Even without any weird bullshit.”

“There’s a spectrum,” said Lalia, “even in network.” Privately, she felt that if Riley wanted to leave, let them—they’d certainly been through enough at this point and seemed to have had doubts beyond recent bad experiences. She had never truly had doubts in the same way.

“There sure is,” said Tamora.

Clara was still silent.

“Yeah,” Riley shrugged. “We’ll see tomorrow, I guess.”

Ezri had convinced them to spend the night, at least.

“Like, I’m glad, that you're happy here,” said Riley. “Like, your Owner is the most reasonable person I’ve met this whole time and it’s been like, five minutes.”

Lalia laughed but knew exactly what they meant. She glanced towards the sliding patio door, but heard nothing of Ezri and Jen’s conversation and the blinds mostly blocked them from view.

As the door had closed, Jen produced a cigarette and a lighter.

“Since when do you smoke?” Ezri asked, watching Jen twirl the cigarette in her fingers.

“I don’t,” she said, lighting it and taking a long drag, leaning against a column of the patio.

Ezri took it from her delicately and did the same.

“Since when do you even like being around smoke?”

“I don’t. You’re not smoking and I have no issue being here.”

Jen almost smiled and took it back from her when she offered it.

“Besides, it’s the cigar smoke that bothers me,” said Ezri.

“Fucking LUC and their cigar socials.”

“And Lalia couldn’t stand it anyway.” She took the offered cigarette again.

“I’m sure she’d tell you off.”

Ezri almost laughed, coughed. “More likely Clara.”

“Not today.”

Quiet, trading. “I hope you won’t be too hard on her. She meant well. Probably panicked.”

“I know,” said Jen, with no comment on what her plans were. She held up the cigarette a little. “Just one or two when I’m stressed.”

Ezri took it from her. “Once or twice every few years. Socially. When I’m stressed.”

“I’d have thought you’d go all Jewish mother on me, _Etzria_.”

“I still don’t know where my parents got the idea my Hebrew name was spelled with a tzade.”

“Have you _looked_ at my name?” Jen asked.

“Yes, Jenevieve, none of our parents can spell in Hebrew, Swedish, or any other language.” She handed the cigarette back. “Besides, I rarely try to tell you off anymore. I’m just the one whose slave needs to borrow a jacket _before_ we even cross the freeway.”

“Yeah, well, you should let people dress for the weather.”

“She could’ve asked.” Quiet. “There are trade offs to being the slave allowed to wear what they want, aren’t there?”

Jen sighed. She leant her head back against the patio column. “Are you gonna tell her?”

“What, Clara? You know I don’t get in the middle of it.”

“Lalia.”

“For reference.”

Jen nodded. Handed the cigarette back with a vague gesture that somehow said _finish it._ “The lights are very nice,” she said dryly, looking at the lights switched to off in the daylight.

Ezri discarded the cigarette. “I thought so,” she said in the same tone.

Inside, Riley speculated. “They liked you,” they said to Lalia. “Garrett and Amoret. Until they didn’t.”

“Well, I was a bit ahead on entry training,” said Lalia.

“Well, that, but like—the majordomo thing. They were into it. After you left, I heard them talking about it. Like, they obviously didn’t want _you_ anymore but they missed the role. Where it could’ve gone. I think they mentioned they were talking to someone else about doing it. I dunno." 

Ezri and Jen returned. Ezri offered a kiss to the top of Lalia’s head and a stroke of her hair; Jen and Clara departed shortly, the latter finding the resolve to go through the motions of leaving, though her eyes didn’t seem to focus.

Lalia sympathized; if she was in her position, she wouldn’t have been much for talking, either. And they’d talked about the mental fog that could come with such incidents. Emotions might have been running high, but orders were orders.

And for all the chaos of the day, the next day seemed to only bring more. Riley still wanted to leave in the morning. Wishing them well, Ezri gave them a ride to the place they requested and left it at that.

She also dropped Tamora at Travis’ for some more talking, maybe more. If all went well, they would sign the paperwork that evening and the two would begin their own consideration contract, though from Ezri’s side, the paperwork would be sealed. Whatever they did from here, her part, Lalia's part, training, was done, and the contract between her and Travis was just payment for that convenience. If things didn’t work out, and he sold Tamora onward, it just meant he’d pay Ezri off faster. They’d been drafting that paperwork between them as he’d been drafting a consideration contract with Tamora.

With that in progress, Ezri and Lalia found themselves alone for a few hours of waiting and breathing. She finally remembered to ask her question. “What was with the jacket conversation yesterday?”

Ezri sighed, though it was more a long, deliberate exhale. She shifted in her desk chair. “Well.” Then she paused again, seeming unsure. “Jen and Clara are… in the deep end of psychological conditioning. One important facet being, Jen wants her to have trouble thinking of disobeying. And so one method being blurring memories around times it's already happened. And so she lies about the details of how something happened to plant doubt in those memories. Clara’s memory says Jen leant you her jacket after we passed the freeway; but if Jen says it was before, enough times, subtly, Clara will develop conflicting memories or remember it wrong entirely, messing with the continuity of the mental story. Then she’ll question other pieces. So she’ll feel uncertain when she thinks about it. Not be able to add up her own mental processes clearly and remember exactly how she came to the decision to disobey. Thus, making it hard to recreate that process.”

Well, it had worked. She recalled her conversation with Clara on internal enslavement and Clara’s description of being unable to hold onto thoughts when she tried to ponder a theoretical disobedient act. The way she didn’t properly remember the night she ran away. Her dissociative state the day before, after the incident, even if panic had overridden any conditioning. Clara’d said she understood and accepted the effects, even if she knew there were a lot of tactics being used she wasn’t aware of.

Still, something about it made Lalia uneasy. “Why does Jen do it? Clara’s hers anyway.”

“Because she’s an almost psychopath and a pathological liar. This is her idea of fun.”

It seemed a little harsh for someone she was obviously so close to.

“And, don’t get me wrong… I’d trust either of them with my life and I have great respect for both of them and their dynamic. But...” She sighed. “I don’t approve of that element. I know there was up front consent but I believe such conditioning makes it impossible to determine if consent is truly ongoing, something I want to know even in CNC. But I don’t get in the middle of it. And you won’t either. We’ve agreed to stay out of each other’s dynamics.”

She understood that. Yet, it did seem like they were right in the middle of many people’s dynamics.

Riley sent an _all well_ message that evening, settled into staying with their family. Lalia was glad they had somewhere to go, if they grumbled a bit about being around vanilla people again. They seemed very open to the idea of coming to a party sometime.

Ezri and Travis and Tamora signed the paperwork and Tamora went home with him for good this time. Lalia was happy for her. She deserved some peace, and the way she smiled when Travis signed the papers. 

Ezri posted the final compilation of all of the TrainingMax experiences where the network could see it, and a public scene proof version anywhere that crowd would listen. It exploded, viral in those crowds in hours. TrainingMax was sure to suffer the resulting ignominy. The two sorted through comments and messages until they decided to shut electronics for the night.

“We should discuss our own consideration contract,” said Ezri, “as it ends tomorrow. I know we've been... busy.” She glanced at the clock. “In the morning.” She rubbed at her eyes. Her phone lit up again. It wouldn’t have shown anything from the writings published, so she glanced at it. “Charlie,” she said. “‘Holy fucking shit’ and a Fet link.” She frowned, and opened her laptop again, opening the message there and clicking the link. She stared at the screen, tilting her head. “Holy fucking _shit_ is right.”

Lalia crawled over and knelt up to look at the screen. “It sure is.”

Paige’s FetLife profile. Relationship status updates. All prior listings removed. Simply, _in service to—_

Of course, TrainingMax.


	25. Consideration

Shock flooded Lalia’s awareness; she barely noticed Ezri standing and pacing, as she tried to replay all of her talks with Paige and realized, feeling sick, that it all added up. Paige’s enjoyment of being majordomo at events, her obvious research into the role. Being quick to advise trying heavier CNC. Her dissatisfaction with her job, with Charlie. Her jealousy over Lalia’s role with Sadie and Tamora, at TrainingMax. A few pointed comments. Riley’s belief that TrainingMax had been talking to another potential majordomo.

Ezri swore under her breath continually, her pacing agitated, as if she felt trapped, or wanted to do more than pace, at least. She knew Paige better, cared more, still failed to see this brewing.

Lalia, heart racing, offered her a ruler that sat in a nearby bin, with a small shrug. She didn’t have anything better to offer.

Ezri looked at her as if she’d lost her mind for a moment, then took it from where it laid across Lalia’s palms, pulled her up from her kneeling position, and nudged her over the desk. The strikes came fast and hard, and the impromptu implement was almost entirely sting. She squirmed and panted at the biting sensation but didn’t try anything to stop her.

They stopped as suddenly as they started. “All right,” Ezri admitted, a little breathless herself, her fingers tracing Lalia’s hot skin, “I feel… marginally better.”

“Good,” said Lalia, and straightened at Ezri’s beckon.

“I still have mixed feelings on using you for catharsis but, since you offered…”

“It’s fine,” Lalia reassured her, kissing her cheek. She knew the emotions weren’t directed at her and it wasn’t as if a brief session with a ruler was distressing. She liked it, actually; the ruler itself was a little lacking, but the idea of catharsis service at times appealed to her.

Ezri picked up her phone and messaged Charlie an echo of his own reaction. “The poor man,” said Ezri. “And Naomi.” Glance at the screen. “I don’t think he’ll say anything else tonight.” She nudged Lalia. “To bed with you. _Bed_ bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Lalia stood and gave a curtsy that was part _thank you_ and part dismissal protocol, and left. They had wrapped up for the evening, check in leading to going through those comments.

She easily fell asleep curled up parallel to the foot of the bed, her head in Ezri’s lap, a throw draped over her, Ezri’s hand stilling in her hair. Any worries aside, she was exhausted.

She felt Ezri shift in the middle of the night, leaving with one more shushing stroke of her hair that said, _go back to sleep._ But she didn’t return quickly, and through the haze of sleepiness and medication, Lalia wondered enough to get up and follow.

She found her in the living room, half under a blanket on the couch with a notebook and one lamp on. Ezri didn’t notice her in the doorway, and she retreated, suddenly feeling like she shouldn’t intrude empty handed. So she made a quick cup of coffee before returning, offering it with a rueful smile. “Decaf,” she said. “But it feels nice.”

And it did, the mug warm in Ezri’s fingers, the liquid sweet on her tongue, coating her throat, warmth settling in her stomach. She stroked Lalia’s hair. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Lalia gave a bow of her head, a brush of her lips at Ezri’s palm when she touched her cheek, nuzzling into the caress, eyes closing. It said, _come back to bed._

Ezri frowned at the notebook and shut it in one hand with a satisfying _thwap._ “I’m not figuring anything out tonight,” she said. She took another sip of the coffee. Set her glasses and pen in her lap with the notebook.

Soon, they went back to bed, talking, touching, sleeping.

In the morning, Ezri said, “We’ll go out for breakfast today.”

This gave Lalia pause. “Out?” she asked cautiously, like she’d learned the word in a book and wasn’t sure of its pronunciation.

“Out,” said Ezri. “We’ll engage in the coping mechanisms of eating pancakes and buying books while our friends make dumb decisions.”

Well, that sounded good to Lalia.

Soon enough they were at a counter service coffee shop turned breakfast joint, an indie place Ezri apparently frequented before Lalia’s cooking. Strange art lined the walls.

“Hey, where ya been?” asked the young man at the counter; he had a lip ring and glasses. “Almost called. The usual?”

“Please. And whatever she wants.” A gesture to Lalia, who was taking in the conversation and perusing the menu, filled with words like _gluten free_ and _keto._

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, my new assistant, Lalia,” said Ezri. She introduced him.

“Good to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. Tattoos ran up his forearms.

“Likewise.” She felt confused, for a moment, by the idea that her and Ezri had such separate lives until a few months ago. Different places they went and people they knew and things they did. This barista didn’t seem to buy the _assistant,_ either, trying to catch Ezri’s gaze curiously, though she became suddenly very interested in some muffins ( _vegan_ ) on display, which she didn’t add to the order Lalia placed.

They settled at a small, round table with mismatched chairs by a large window.

“What are ‘cruelty free’ pancakes, anyway?” Lalia asked, poking at them with a fork curiously.

“Made with ethically sourced ingredients by well paid employees. Now be a good slave and eat your pancakes before I beat you.”

Lalia smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Their voices were just low enough to not be heard.

Perhaps _cruelty free_ meant delicious, Lalia reflected as she ate the pancakes.

“Temptation staff probably also thinks I’m dead,” Ezri said, mind apparently on that _where ya been._ “Our dear friends seem to be out of their pointless phase for it, and I think they went once without dragging us along.”

“Kind of them.” Not like she disliked the placed, but it made Ezri smile, and she liked that.

Ezri talked about the various changes of habit the last few months had brought, and Lalia listened, and at some point Ezri, as she sometimes did, stopped abruptly, and said, “I’m rambling.”

Lalia, who had admittedly missed the last several sentences while trying to come up with her own descriptor of the blue of Ezri’s eyes, smiled. “I like when you ramble,” she said, as she usually did, because it was true. She liked Ezri’s passion for her favorite subjects or about whatever topic had struck her mind today.

“What’s in _your_ pretty little head, hmm?” Ezri poked her nose. Lalia had rested her chin on folded arms on the table.

“Sapphire,” she said. “Your eyes are sapphire blue.”

Ezri laughed, the one where something made her happy, more than out of amusement. Though this one almost looked flustered, as much as it ever crept into her collected demeanor. “Sapphire?” she echoed.

“ _Sapphire,_ ” Lalia assured her.

“If you say so.” Her eyes, whatever shade they might be, dropped to the table in something that would’ve been shyness if it wasn’t on Ezri, but she smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Her hand found Lalia’s on the table. Lalia’s eyes flitted to the already unconvinced barista.

“He didn’t believe me anyway,” Ezri shrugged, reading her thoughts. She fingered the end of Lalia’s braid, a pinkish orange in the sun from the window.

Lalia smiled. She had no attachment to a different vanilla label for their relationship, but she liked the idea that the bond between them was obvious.

They left shortly, hand in hand, swinging between them a little as they walked. Their next destination was walking distance away.

The air was cool and crisp, but not as chilly as it had been the other day, though she’d planned ahead and asked to wear a jacket or leggings. Ezri granted both; the gray leggings had been bought with her uniform for such occasions, but the cardigan was one of Ezri’s, black and too long on her, but it was soft and it smelled like Ezri and it made her smile.

They arrived at the other indie shop, a small space tightly packed with dusty books on mismatched shelves and lit mostly by the sun coming in the windows.

She understood instantly Ezri’s promising adoration of the place expressed earlier, and felt immediately fond of it herself.

They browsed; a woman with a gray _I’d like to speak to the manager_ haircut greeted them shortly, knowing Ezri by name, and then, with an amused sigh, “My assistant, Lalia.”

“Nice to meet you.” Handshake. Suspicious look.

“Likewise.”

She was also introduced to an equally gray tabby cat nestled on top of a low shelf below a window, sunbathing. The cat padded over to Ezri easily, but seemed suspicious of Lalia.

They formed a pile of books between them, balanced in Lalia’s arms. Ezri brushed off her payment questions on splitting the pile up. “Books don’t count towards your allowance,” she decided.

“Well, what else am I supposed to spend it on?” Lalia pouted.

“You’ll find something. I could make you a separate book budget, but fair warning—” she slipped another used paperback onto the teetering pile with a smile “—I’ll never enforce it.”

At home, they discussed the topic they’d neglected all morning—the contract.

Both satisfied with the draft of the Ownership contract, Ezri said that the only thing left to do was be sure. They had discussed various methods that would satisfy her criteria for this before, though they mostly came back to one Lalia, privately, had hoped they would find obsolete. Ezri didn’t seem to think so.

“I booked you a room for two nights,” she said of a nearby hotel. “I know it sounds stupid. But—” she sighed, and touched Lalia’s cheek “—I just want you to have some breathing space. Be certain. All of my initial offers stand.”

To help with logistics if she wanted to leave.

She didn’t.

Perhaps Ezri wanted the space for herself, too. That was only fair, if nerve wracking.

“I’ll take you there around four.”

“All right.”

Another two long days, then.

But then, forever.

Hopefully.

She couldn’t think of any other future. It made her feel sick, wrong. Even two days without Ezri seemed like too many.

“And I’ll see you at ten the day after tomorrow. You can call if you want. You don’t have to.”

Of course she would want to. “All right.” She thought, then asked, “Do you want to sign it? After?”

“Of course.” She stroked her cheek where her hand had lingered. “Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Then I look forward to it. In the meantime, we should be sure.”

They spent the afternoon together, kissing, touching, talking. Lalia ran extra laundry and meal prep and Ezri laughed a little as she followed her around while she did. “I’ll survive two days, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

She packed lightly for the hotel, the few books she’d recently acquired, the one she’d been halfway through.

Ezri dropped her off at the hotel with the information for the reservation and a lingering kiss. “I love you. Be a good girl. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you, too.” One more kiss.

Her room was nice, sleek and modern, with a little kitchenette and a shower with a rain feature, and had an unnecessary extra bed that became a surface for sorting out the apparently _more than a few_ books she had brought. She could’ve survived with a lot less—books and amenities—for a few days. The room was probably the size of her old apartment, a strange thought. Whether or not all the space was strictly needed, there was something about having the room to roam at her and Ezri’s that was nice. Indoor stairs and all.

This—everything of the last few months—was the wildest version of every fantasy she’d ever had come true at once—even the more innocent ones. A nice house filled with books, shared with someone who loved her and open to their friends. Not to mention… everything else. The sex, the play parties, the role she had always wanted.

God, how had she gotten here? Where had it really started?

Temptation, of all places. _The talking and the play and being curled up sleepily against Ezri’s side while she talked to her friends. Later, Ezri had been quick to check on how she was doing as they pondered leaving. Was she okay to drive, did she need a ride—intoxicated only on fading subspace, but it was a strong drug. No, but she’d walked her back to her car. They’d exchanged numbers._

_“Thank you,” Lalia'd said, “for everything.”_

_“Of course. You’re always supposed to walk pretty girls to their cars after you beat them to tears.”_

_Tired laugh. “I guess my parents didn’t teach me that one.”_

_“That’s because you’re the pretty girl in the equation.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_“I do say so.” Kiss on the cheek. Gave her plenty of room to get in the car, waited until she’d pulled out of the lot to go back into Temptation._

And now…

She realized she’d been sitting on the floor and thinking. She looked at the bed that didn’t have books spread out on it. Right. She was supposed to sleep in it, at some point. Probably acquire something for dinner, order it, at whatever time she wanted. Strange thoughts. Ezri had not officially relinquished her from any rules, but some went away by location automatically. There would be no evening cleaning or inspection, either. How used to it all she’d become.

This felt like an ending and a beginning at once. Just because her official training period was over didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot left to learn.

She had still never done a standard run of entry training as Ezri foresaw doing it; honestly, a lot of her experience in the majordomo role so far had been coincidental if valuable—Sadie, Tamora, TrainingMax. Only the events had really been up to Ezri.

She felt a lot more comfortable with the idea of normal entry training than she had at the beginning, and wondered how she would’ve felt if those coincidences hadn’t happened—or if they were perhaps not so coincidental—if it hadn’t happened that way, if Ezri would’ve sought other experiences for her. Now, instead of reluctance and doubt, she looked forward to more.

She pondered, too, that it had been a lot to take in as she adjusted to being a slave, herself. The idea that being granted new authority and a new lack of authority at once had been overwhelming for the sheer duality. Given time and training in just the slave role, it felt less overwhelming to then be granted some authority. And as she adjusted to that, it felt somehow like one of the most submission affirming services she provided. To take what Ezri taught her and pass it on. To be the good example. To be the teaching tool. To be the filter that caught problems before they ever reached Ezri.

She ordered dinner.

Eating alone was kind of nice for a change, and kind of strange. Having a bed—and to herself—was also kind of nice for a change, and kind of strange. She found herself, stupidly, sleeping across the end of it, though she didn’t have to worry about disturbing Ezri when she moved.

The next day was quiet. Well, maybe she could use some quiet, after all the chaos. She thought about Paige, and reflected that if it was the majordomo role she had that Paige wanted, she could almost see how it made sense to go to TrainingMax. Not because of any goodness on TrainingMax’s part, but because being simply a slave was very different. She saw how having a job and coming home to just Charlie and Naomi—an equal to her—was unsatisfying, and how TrainingMax solved both of those problems at once. Still, she was trying to connect the soft spoken, motherly young woman she’d met with any genuine enthusiasm for working for people like Amoret or Garrett. Perhaps she’d had doubts and been pressured? Maybe they were missing something?

As much as she’d like to think it, Ezri had liked that train of thought even more, and still been unable to back it up.

She understood a lot more thoroughly now, the differences between them and TrainingMax. She’d gotten to see some of the worst of it, yes, but even the subtle differences had come to light. She thought of all the lengths Ezri had gone to with her, making sure she felt safe at every step, making sure she _was_ safe at every step, even when she would’ve thrown aside caution faster herself. Reassuring her patiently even when she had right to be angry at her. Answering every question no matter how many times she asked.

A prominent example was this hotel stay itself, how much Ezri was committed to letting her have space to breathe and think and not be in her grasp before she agreed to anything, even when Lalia would’ve signed the contract weeks ago.

She remembered, at once, that with the contract being up, she could be allowed to return that family voicemail. She avoided the thought for a while, reading, but returned to it with a bit of nausea. Then realized, again, that she didn’t want to return it. And, nausea fading, that she might be right to not return it.

She wondered if Ezri’s relentless gentleness was what had given her the perspective that told her she didn’t have to be endlessly grateful for the scraps of concern and affection her family had granted her. That she was not so indebted she had to listen to the guilt trips forever. For Ezri’s kindness, she owed her nothing; Ezri had always made that clear. Even Tamora and Riley were not in her debt. And yet Lalia owed her everything, but only because that was what she’d agreed to give her.

They talked on the phone that day, more comfortable silence than contract talk, but it was reassuring anyway.

Mostly, Lalia longed for it to be morning.

And then, suddenly, it was. She let herself sleep in and she had little more to do than get dressed and collect her things before it was time to meet Ezri downstairs. She waited for a few minutes, but hopped up when Ezri came in and the two embraced eagerly, tightly. Sinking into it, relieved. Everything in it said _yes_ and _finally._

They went home. It felt so right to call it home. In the car, Lalia asked it first. “Will you sign it?”

“Yes. Will you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She smiled. Ezri smiled and squeezed her hand at the red light.

They had agreed recently that if they signed it, they didn’t want much of a collaring ceremony—they had enough hubbub and company as it was. An officiant and an audience sounded just like more chaos. There would be some vanilla legal paperwork anyway. So, it was a quiet affair.

They signed the contract at the dining table. Ezri first, a simple but cleanly elegant _E. Roderick_ on the Owner line _._ Then, _Lalia Chalmers,_ on the slave line _._

At Ezri’s beckon, Lalia knelt in front of her, and Ezri retrieved the collar from the box it had been hidden in, draped it around the back of her neck, the two small d-rings at the end of the chain meeting in the front, a lock looped through them. Ezri pressed it shut and grasped it for another moment. “Mine.”

“Yours.”

Ezri tugged at the collar a little, made sure it didn’t give, didn’t slip over Lalia’s chin when she pulled up.

“May I see it?” Lalia asked, shy but eager.

“Of course.”

So she let her look at it in the bathroom mirror, arms wrapped around her waist from behind her. Gray byzantine chainmail, cool metal rapidly warming on her skin. The weight becoming normal already. The keyhole of the lock rested against her in the back; her name was on the visible front, over the network symbol.

“I figured chain,” Ezri said softly, “for the network symbol. Gray for majordomos. Name and symbol went nicely on a lock. No other tags needed.”

“It’s perfect,” said Lalia, admiring it. The best version of anything she had pictured. “Thank you.”

Ezri kissed her neck, an inch from the metal. “You earned it.” She looked at it in the mirror, too. “I must admit, I kept worrying something would be wrong. The sizing off, or something. But it looks like my measurements were fine.”

“Just right.”

Ezri released her, hands stroking her sides as she let her go. Another light kiss at her neck. “I have two more things to show you.”

The first, she produced from a second box in the dining room that looked like the collar’s. Leash, matching. Like the collar, it was surprisingly light overall, though much more noticeable than the ribbon they had used thus far. The metal rattled a little as they tried it out. Ezri led her upstairs to her office; the stairs were interesting; they hadn’t thought to practice that. She unclipped her and offered the last thing she had to show her neatly wrapped in purple fabric that formed a bow on top of itself, tying the package closed. Something about the reusable wrapping and neatness of it, and the purple, was very Ezri.

She opened it at Ezri’s gesture, and tilted her head until she understood it, then laughed, more happy than amused. A picture frame that held three folded ribbons—one black, one white, one gray. Each was labeled in Ezri’s familiar cursive on the white background; _first black ribbon_ and so on. Each of the first collar like statuses Ezri had given her, by category.

“I wasn’t really sure what I was saving them for at the time,” Ezri admitted. “But inspiration struck.”

It hadn’t occurred to Lalia to keep track of them, but it was intensely sentimental, and sweet. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed Ezri’s cheek, arms wrapped around her. “I love it. I love _you_.”

“And I love you.” She kissed her on the lips, fingers finding the collar again and gripping her by it, lingering after she pulled away, Lalia resting her head on her shoulder. She let go and embraced her, pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“So what do we do now?” Lalia asked.

“Now, my darling,” said Ezri, letting go of her and clipping the leash back on her, “I take you to the bedroom and make you come until you beg me to stop.”

Lalia giggled.

“And you know the best part?” Tilting her chin up.

“Hmm?”

Ezri smiled at her. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

_End of Book One_

[ _Book Two_ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959867/chapters/65801530)

**Author's Note:**

> Want to take the survey and share your opinions about this series? Find the survey [here](https://forms.gle/h2pho3vavpzNT1jr5).
> 
> Want a physical copy or ebook? Find Book One and The First IGY Companion on [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Hannah-The-Scribe/e/B08NPX9Q4L). Also, [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55955242-i-ll-give-you-everything-i-am). Also find Book One on [Barnes and Noble](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ill-give-you-everything-i-am-hannah-the-scribe/1138275367). 
> 
> Want fun extras like fonts and audio? Check [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/igy/).
> 
> Want more, and have something in mind? Request short stories for this series [here](https://hannahthescribe.com/igy-requests/).
> 
> Want more? Find the whole series on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867054) along with my [other works](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034871).
> 
> Want the reality? Read my BDSM nonfiction on [Service Slave Secrets](http://www.serviceslavesecrets.com/) or [FetLife](https://fetlife.com/users/7113554/posts/5648128).
> 
> Want a taste of the trainee life? Find my BDSM education classes [here](https://serviceslavesecrets.com/events/).


End file.
